


Chasing Shadows

by alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Lemon, M/M, Metamorphosis, Mild Kink, Yaoi, metaphysical angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 18:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist/pseuds/alittlepieceofgundamwing_archivist
Summary: by Saro--A white sky opened up over a black stretch of road, mountains making a serrated blue line in the distance. Wind stirred the bare branches of trees and flattened pale winter grass. I could hear it growling outside my car. I wanted it. Wanted the sky, wanted the wind, the mountains, and the sere, frosty ground--but most of all I wanted the road. I can't explain it except to say that the road went somewhere, and it wasn't so much that I wanted to be there as it was I wanted to be going where it went.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

A white sky opened up over a black stretch of road, mountains making a serrated blue line in the distance. Wind stirred the bare branches of trees and flattened pale winter grass. I could hear it growling outside my car. I wanted it. Wanted the sky, wanted the wind, the mountains, and the sere, frosty ground--but most of all I wanted the road. I can't explain it except to say that the road went somewhere, and it wasn't so much that I wanted to be there as it was I wanted to be going where it went.  
  
I was coming up on my exit as the day before replayed in my head.  
  
The office with its warm, recycled air and colorless cloth walls, the whirr of computers and the buzz of conversation, all closing in on me. It stuck to my skin. It stuck in my ears and in my throat. Sifting through the duplicate requests in my mail box, the memos and the reminder of the holiday party while I looked for fifteen minutes worth of real work. Finding it, but opening freecell instead; I sympathized too much to play Lemmings. By the end of the day I was back in high school, watching the clock and counting the minutes until I could leave without attracting attention.  
  
I went home to my apartment, which was full of all the electronics a grown man could want. I didn't use half of them. The building, full of people I didn't know and didn't care to. I'd flipped through channels for a few hours, surfed around online, and made myself dinner before going to bed alone. Heard my neighbors through the walls as they'd talked and fucked and snored.  
  
I clutched the steering wheel while I thought about it, mouth suddenly dry. The traffic hardly moved: standard morning gridlock. I was waiting for an opening to change lanes so I could make the turn. So far, no one would let me in. Despite the cold outside, I nearly rolled down the window and let in the fresh air I knew I wouldn't have at work. I turned off the heater instead.  
  
Inching ahead, I watched for a gap between the cars in the right lane that I could take advantage of, but I didn't see any. They weren't leaving enough room to nose in. I glanced at the clock, and saw I wasn't running late yet. Ahead of me flashed a long red line of brakelights and blinkers.  
  
All those people did the same as me. I could see the backs of their heads through their rear windows. They were talking on their cell phones, putting on their make up, or scowling at their mirrors. Many of them were waiting for the same break as me so they could push into the right lane and get to work.  
  
I didn't want that, but I'd chosen it yesterday. At the time it had made sense. Now I couldn't understand why I did it. So I could keep my apartment, and my things? The only possession of mine I had any particular attachment to was my car; my hands smoothed over the wheel at the thought. So I could make more money, buy more things and move into another apartment, or a house, and get new neighbors who I wouldn't talk to? There were reasons why, I knew that there were. Lots of them, I supposed.  
  
Right then I couldn't remember a damn one.  
  
Tapping the steering wheel impatiently, I glanced back at the right lane, looking for the opening that would be there eventually. The row of cars was like a trail of insects, bodies shiny and dark in the winter light. A few weren't quite bumper to bumper. I could make a place, if I tried to.  
  
I thought about opening the window again, but if I did, it would show when I got to work. It was hard enough getting my hair to conform to a professional appearance in the morning when it was still wet from the shower and willing to compromise. If I opened the window now, there'd be no way to get it back under control. I thought about pressing my face against the cool glass, but that would smudge it.  
  
Swallowing hard, I turned on my blinker, intending to push into the right lane, intending to take my exit and negotiate the stop and go surfaces streets, and the grey cavern of the parking garage.  
  
I couldn't do it. Maybe if there hadn't been traffic. Maybe if someone had let me in. But that wasn't worth fighting for. Suddenly the path of least resistance wasn't.  
  
The left lane was moving. Not fast, but the cars there were leaving the city and kept a good pace. Flipping my blinker that way was almost frighteningly easy, and I think I may have sighed in relief when I did it. A moment later, I was able to switch over and get up to speed. My imagination made the purr of the BMW accelerating into an appreciative sound, as though it were pleased to be allowed some room after the press of commuters.  
  
I stopped in the next town south to top off my gas tank, and pick up some coffee and a pecan roll. I found a Bank of America and gutted my accounts there while I was at it. With the resolution not to need either again, my phone and tie went in a trash can at the gas station. Then I was back in my car, the window opened an inch and air blowing across my face.  
  
It was odd. I wouldn't say I was happy, because I wasn't. Not really. I'd been happy when the loan went through on my car. I wasn't scared, either, though I probably should have been. I had been scared to go to work and sit at a desk. This wasn't frightening.  
  
I just was.  
  
I'd chosen the hard white sky and the road.  
  
For the moment, that was enough.  
  
+  
  
Two days later found me pushing scrambled eggs around on my plate in a truckstop diner at four-thirty in the morning. I'd stopped because I hadn't eaten since sometime the afternoon before when I drove through a Taco Bell, but I couldn't seem to find the appetite to finish what I'd ordered. Dry toast and orange juice had cut the sausage grease in my mouth, but my stomach twisted uncomfortably. The only thing I could muster any enthusiasm for was the coffee. It tasted like battery acid, but I drank it anyway.  
  
My eyes flicked around the diner constantly as I tried to work up the courage for a few more bites of egg. Mentally, I knew I needed food, but my body didn't seem to believe me. A sagging, middle-aged former bombshell of a waitress refilled my mug and gave me a waxy red smile that I didn't bother to return.  
  
There was a long-haul trucker in one of the booths and a grizzly, grey bearded biker farther down the bar, both digging into their breakfasts with enviable vigor. Fluorescent lights had no mercy on them, nor the waitress and the flecked turquoise countertops. I gave up on the eggs and went for a corner of toast. That, at least, I could chew and swallow mechanically.  
  
Outside, it was dark in a way I wasn't used to. I hadn't realized how much ambient light there was in cities. Here it was black and thick beyond the floodlights. I got the feeling it would have pressed against the windows if it could.  
  
I sipped my coffee to clear away the taste of runny eggs and dry bread, giving up on eating any more. Not as hungry as I thought, I guessed, wanting to settle the bill and get back on the road.  
  
While the waitress went to get my change, I scraped a hand through my hair and winced. I'd buy shampoo soon, and a toothbrush. I'd missed out on most of the niceties for the last forty-eight hours, and I felt it. I added a razor kit and a change of clothes to my mental shopping list. They probably had everything I needed at the convenience store by the pumps, but it might be cheaper to wait until I got to the next town. I weighed staying here a little longer versus getting back on the road only to stop again later.  
  
The waitress came back with a few ones and some pennies. Looking at the small wad of cash, I wondered why I had waited. I left it all as a tip, not bothering to do the math, and walked outside.  
  
Cold washed over me, the sort that makes the air feel very, very empty. I took a deep breath, stinging my nose and mouth. The wind blew across me and down the back of my coat, chilled my legs through my slacks. I could see into the store from where I stood. If I did my shopping here, I wouldn't have to stop later. The gas tank was full again. I didn't suspect I would want to eat again soon. But my car was more inviting than the bored man behind the counter.  
  
It was the advertised showers that decided me. I'd get it done now and go back to driving as clean as a person could get at a truckstop.  
  
I did my shopping in a matter of minutes: shampoo and conditioner in one, a black sweatshirt and jeans, a comb, other necessities I knew I'd need. The clerk watched at me by way of a mirror in one corner--I could feel his attention on my gritty skin and dirty hair. I didn't wonder what he saw; I just didn't like him looking. When I paid, his expression was incurious.  
  
The shower was a shower. Soap, water--it's a pretty simple concept. This one was lukewarm, and I wished I had thought to buy flip-flops to wear in the stall. I was only too happy to keep it short. When I finished, I ripped the price tags off my new clothes and put them on. The fit wasn't perfect, but I hadn't expected it to be. I wasn't really clean when I got out, but at it was an improvement. I combed my hair, letting it fall where it wanted, shaved the patchy stubble that had grown on my chin and above my lips, then returned the shower key.  
  
I breathed easier once I was behind the wheel of my car again. I put the key in the ignition, turned it over, and the BMW started with a comfortable thrum. Leaning back against the seat, I closed my eyes and listened to it for a long moment before turning on the lights and shifting into reverse.  
  
Away from the lights of the truckstop, the stars were winter bright over a landscape vast, bare and gently rolling. Sagebrush made darker patches against the ground. I could smell it even without the window down. My stomach settled at the scent and with the vibration from the car. Beyond me and the car, the quiet was so complete it felt like I could hear it.  
  
For the past two days I'd done very little but drive. I stopped for food occasionally, and to stretch my legs. I took a few naps. When I stopped, a part of me always wanted to be moving again. There was a feeling of potential when I was moving, like I might come across something worth finding over the next horizon. It was comforting, I suppose. I chose directions arbitrarily. The first day out I'd thought about buying a road map, but decided against it. Since I didn't have a particular destination, how I got there wasn't important.  
  
Soothing is the word.  
  
I drove the rest of the night.  
  
When dawn was lightening the sky, I saw him. He was walking down the shoulder of the road, heading east. There was no mistaking him for a woman, despite the long braid that swayed gently in time with his steps. The shape of his shoulders under the leather jacket he wore was a man's, and the length of his strides. A duffel bag was slung over one of his arms. I wondered if he'd been walking all night, and where he'd come from if he hadn't. There hadn't been an exit for over an hour.  
  
I got closer, and he pivoted around to walk backwards, sticking a thumb out. His head cocked, a smile flashing.  
  
I met his smile, saw the challenge clearly in how it curved higher on one side, and passed by. Then the way was clear as far as I could see, with nothing but the road curving away toward a vanishing point.  
  
An instant later he appeared in my rearview mirror, shaking his head resignedly and walking again. He was dusty, his face pink across the nose and cheeks from the temperature, pale otherwise.  
  
Most people don't pick up hitchhikers. Why should they? Why should I? Good karma wasn't high on my priority lists.  
  
Why the hell not?  
  
The question hit me like shifting gears. I was used to justifying what I did, rather than the other way around.  
  
But there were always reasons not to do a thing.  
  
Well, why not?  
  
I could think of reasons. Good reasons. It could be dangerous, for one. People got killed by hitchhikers, got their cars stolen. He could have a weapon. He could be a psychopath, or a paranoid schizophrenic, hearing voices in his head. Somehow, I doubted it. He would talk, and I enjoyed the silence. I would have to deal with another person in my space.  
  
Were those really enough reason not to do it?  
  
I didn't know.  
  
So, why not?  
  
I pulled over and waited for him to catch up. When he appeared by the passenger side window, I thumbed the button to roll it down. Studying him more closely, I asked, "How far are you going?"  
  
"As far as you'll take me," he answered, his smile becoming a grin that creased the corners of his eyes. There was something about his face: you saw the expression first, before the lines, before the cheek bones and the tapered jaw. The grin was full and energetic, and it made him look young at the first glance. I might have said eighteen or twenty. The face, however, was older than that. Mid twenties. Possibly even older than me. His eyes were a vivid, dusky blue.  
  
I hit another button and the lock sprang up. He opened the door and tossed his bag in the back seat, dropping into the car after it. "Thanks," he said while he put on his seatbelt.  
  
"No problem."  
  
After giving him a moment to settle, I put the car in drive and pulled back onto the deserted highway. The hitchhiker made an impressed noise as he peeled off his gloves and held his hands in front of a vent. The heat was low, the air coming out tepid, but he still winced while he flexed cold fingers. When he was done chafing the life back into his hands, he sat back, leaning into the leather with visible relish.  
  
"I'm Duo Maxwell, by the way," he told me. His voice was rough with what might have been an accent, or grit in his throat, or just how he sounded. It made him come off just a little self-depreciating when he said his name. From the corner of my eye, I could see him studying my car's interior. "Very nice to meet you."  
  
"Heero Yuy," I said, half-reflexively.  
  
"Cigarette?" he offered, drawing a pack of unfiltered Lucky Strikes out of his pocket.  
  
"I quit."  
  
"Mind if I do?"  
  
What did I care? Maybe I'm just not an addictive personality, because being around other people who smoke rarely makes me crave one. The BMW still smelled, anyway. I hardly noticed unless I thought about it. I popped the ashtray. "Burn the upholstery and I'll throw you in front of the next car we pass."  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it." Glancing his way, I saw him stroke the seat cushion. His window cracked, lighter snicked twice, and he took a drag. I had to wince--Luckys weren't my brand. To put it mildly.  
  
"Nice ride you have here," he commented after a moment of quiet. "I don't get picked up in cars like this often. Normally they see me and hit the gas. Didn't think you'd stop for minute there."  
  
"I can imagine," I returned noncommittally.  
  
"I think I'd have to take a loan against my soul to get a car like this." He flicked his ash out the window. "But man, it might be worth it."  
  
I thought about saying something to that, something about the rates on souls versus signature or home equity loans and how hard it was to find someone willing to extend credit on a soul, but the words didn't pull together so I let them be, shrugging. His smile fell as he exhaled, collapsing into something older and less friendly, then his head turned away. Failing encouragement, he seemed willing to give up on conversation.  
  
My attention drifted back to the highway. I didn't forget my passenger, but Duo was good at not being obtrusive, under the circumstances at least. When he finished his cigarette, he didn't light another. He did leave his window open, but my hair was long dry and the fresh air kept the smell of smoke from getting stale. The sun angled low over the mountain, and he put on a pair of sunglasses. I followed his lead, fishing mine out of the center console.  
  
The broken yellow passing line sped by, keeping time. The engine hummed. Duo watched the landscape.  
  
It wasn't what I'd call meditative, but I found myself thinking. Mostly thinking of the last two days, and wondering where they went. It didn't seem like I'd thought much while I drove. I did some of my best thinking behind the wheel, normally; whenever I was stumped on a project or relationship or anything, I'd go for a drive. Things seemed clearer then. In the past few months, it had become my cure for insomnia, too.  
  
Since I left as I'd been moving and reacting without contemplating what I'd done.  
  
The weight of it hit me then.  
  
I'd left it all behind. My home, my job, my friends and family--those last probably wondering where I was, probably worrying. I could picture my mother calling yesterday evening, or my half-brother, maybe because someone from work had phoned them wondering about me. My brother had a key to my apartment. He'd go to check and find it empty, my car not in its spot.  
  
If they hadn't called the police yet, they would soon. I'd been gone long enough already to file a missing person. They'd look for me.  
  
I managed a little guilt for hurting them, but I didn't want to be found. I couldn't regret not taking my exit.  
  
I'd miss things, though. I would miss my brother, even though we didn't see eye to eye on most things. He was still my brother, and he'd never cared that we had different fathers. I'd miss my mother, too. I don't think she liked me as much as she did her good son, but she did her best, and she kept her preference from showing most of the time. I respected her for that. I'd miss my friends. I wasn't as close to many of them as I had been once, but most of them weren't just the Christmas-card kind.  
  
Other things I'd miss surprised me: happy hour at the Den, where you could get a restaurant burger with a side of sweet potato fries for less than three dollars; my bed, with the dip in the right spot; the tree outside my bedroom window; the drive through coffee stand I hit on the way to work where I didn't have to tell them what I wanted.  
  
Could I live without those things?  
  
Yeah, I realized. I could. Easily. But I wouldn't mind a coffee now, or my bed. My stomach rebelled at the thought of a hamburger.  
  
"Where are you from?" I heard myself ask, saw Duo jump in his seat as he realized I was talking to him.  
  
Speaking seemed like a cue to light up another cigarette. He pulled one out, and answered with it hanging from the corner of his lip. "Lots of places. Vegas, originally." He smiled again, but it was a different expression than before. "It's been a while since I was really from anywhere."  
  
I nodded. It fit with him. "Do you miss it?"  
  
"Sometimes," he allowed, flicking ash. "Not too often, though. I miss hitting the cheap buffets on the strip. There's not really much in Vegas to get attached to."  
  
"Buffets?"  
  
"Yeah," Duo said, laughing. The roughness really was his voice. Smoking unfiltered cigarette would do that. "The casinos make most of their money on gambling, so they can afford to sell food for cheap--not to mention, it keeps the bodies near the floor instead of wandering off to look for lunch. As long as you're careful of the shrimp, it's a good deal. A bunch of us used to go out Sundays and hit the brunch specials or the prime rib breakfasts. Sometimes we'd try to join big comp parties. Free food and liquor. It's the beauty of living there." He took a drag, blew it out through his smile. "That, and the lights."  
  
"Think you'll go back?"  
  
"I don't know." Then, slyly, "What about you? Will you go back?"  
  
I thought about it, not wondering how he knew to ask.  
  
"No," I said. "I don't plan on it."  
  
Smiles are more mercurial than I gave them credit for. His changed again, becoming conspiratorial. We talked for a while after that. It didn't take much prompting to get Duo to carry most of the conversation--he chatted well, telling anecdotes about people he said he'd known, or things he'd heard. It was only later, after we'd fallen into a lighter silence, that I realized he never told me any more about himself.  
  
+  
  
That afternoon, Duo dozed off. He snored softly, almost a rumble in his chest. I wished I could do the same, but even though I hadn't slept the night before, I was too wired to rest. I wondered, briefly, what I'd do about my passenger when I did stop to sleep. I didn't think I trusted him enough to nap with him there. In the end, I decided to worry about that when I really was going to sleep.  
  
The sun turned the landscape brown where early morning had painted it grey, and the sky was a clear, biting winter blue. Both stung my eyes. Luckily, there wasn't much to see. My foot rested a little heavier on the accelerator, and the brown hills rolled by faster.  
  
My mind wandered. After thinking about what to do about Duo while I slept, it slipped sideways into other things. Would that be me when I ran out of money? If my car broke down and I couldn't afford to fix it, would I be on the side of the road trying to hitch a ride? Or would I stay somewhere for awhile while I found the money to fix it? Would I sell the BMW and buy something that would take me that much farther?  
  
I pictured myself walking. Just, walking. Or running. Going. How was immaterial.  
  
Where...?  
  
An image of someplace warm flashed through my mind. Someplace lush and green, with shadows that the sun never penetrated. I was a long way from anywhere like that, which is probably why I thought of it. The cold, barren desert remained unrelieved throughout the afternoon. There were towns, but they were as interesting as road signs or names on a map. By the time the light started to fade, my aimless thoughts were hardly more than white noise in my head.  
  
+  
  
Duo woke up in the small gap between an unspectacular sunset and full dark, and we pulled off at the next exit to pick up dinner and find a restroom. A McDonalds ended up providing both. Both restroom and food were pretty much the same as at every other McDonalds I've ever been to; the former clean, white tiled and smelling of disinfectant, and the latter, more or less edible. I ordered the same thing I always had. Duo paid, claiming it was his way of thanking me for the ride.  
  
I told him he didn't have to, which was, he said, what made it so damn nice of him. I couldn't argue with that.  
  
When I got to the little plastic booth and looked down at my little plastic tray, my stomach did a peculiar flip flop. The large fries alone looked like too much, Quarter Pounder aside. I had no idea how I was going to eat it all.  
  
Duo set his tray across from mine, pulled off his leather jacket, and sat down. He shot me half a grin while he unwrapped his chicken sandwich. "You must be hungry if you drove all day," he said.  
  
I grunted neutrally. I should be hungry; I wasn't. I pulled the paper off my burger with fingers that shook from fatigue, but I wasn't particularly sleepy, either.  
  
"You're sure not digging in like someone who hasn't eaten in like twelve hours." I started to say something to that, but he overrode me, "It's okay. MikkyD's isn't exactly something that inspires a guy to eat with gusto."  
  
"Something like that," I agreed, taking a drink of my cola. Then I arched an eyebrow. "Gusto?"  
  
Duo rolled his eyes and ignored me for a moment in favor of his sandwich. Trying to eat a few fries, I let my eyes drift down to my food again. There was definitely too much. I shouldn't have bothered getting the meal. The fries tasted like salt and grease. Looking away in disgust, I caught sight of a brown line peaking between the Duo's cuff and his watchband.  
  
A tattoo?  
  
He caught me looking and smirked. Setting aside his sandwich, Duo rolled up first one sleeve and then the other. I blinked. Both arms were tattooed. On the right, tribal patterns banded half his forearm, changing to a collage of random images that disappeared under his sleeve. I saw a cross, and what looked like a hand of playing cards. The other arm wasn't as full, the inked lines trailing off before his elbow, uncolored.  
  
"They're still in progress," Duo explained. "I get more done when I have the money. I have to get this bastard finished next." He pointed to a snake on the inside of his left arm, tied in a knot and swallowing its own tail. "After that, I think I'm adding a crow. I have an idea, and if I can find a good artist to draw it up for me, then I think it might be pretty cool."  
  
The longer I looked, to more components picked themselves out of the general chaos. There were faces. There were animals, and vines, and there were abstract shapes. Following the lines was dizzying, like looking at a tapestry without any sense of perspective. Foreground and back mingled in something that confused the eye. The cross on his right was actually a rosary, and the beads wove through a sweep of naked thorns that wound around his elbow.  
  
"How long have you been working on it?" I heard myself ask. The cards weren't a poker deck; they were tarot. I only recognized the Fool because of an ex-girlfriend. She experimented with them for awhile, and it always amused her how often that card came up for me. I broke up with her not long after that.  
  
"I don't know." He pointed at the knotted bands. "I got these three or four years ago, when I was dealing at the Luxor. It hasn't been a constant thing, just whenever I have money and inspiration."  
  
"You worked at the Luxor?  
  
"Yeah," Duo answered, and I wondered if I'd made a mistake pursuing that. His face closed in on itself, blue eyes opaque. "I dealt blackjack at a medium stakes table. It didn't feel like it was going anywhere though, so it was hard to work up much energy for it after a while. I guess it wasn't my calling."  
  
"There are people who have a calling to deal blackjack?" I asked, having trouble picturing it. If someone dropped out of school to work in a casino, no one I knew would think of them as following a dream.  
  
He picked up his chicken sandwich again. "You'd be surprised. Some people really get off on it. But, you have to really like working with people."  
  
"You don't?" Probably another mistake, yet he had answered my other questions.  
  
Shrugging, Duo said, "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Not all the time, everyday, everyone. I started getting a little crazy."  
  
I inferred, "So you decided to get a tattoo?"  
  
"Oh, I was thinking about that for a while. What decided me though was this friend of mine." His smile widened mischievously. "She asked me how I could do that to myself, my body is a temple and all that shit."  
  
"I don't follow," I said, after thinking about it for a moment.  
  
"Oh, I got all piqued and thought, so is the Sistine Chapel, and the Catholics hired someone to draw on it. That decided me."  
  
"You got your first tattoo to annoy a friend of yours?"  
  
"It sounds so childish when you say it that way," he replied wryly. "But I found out I liked it." His fingers moved over the patterns on his wrist.  
  
I watched as he stretched his skin a little; then he pushed his sleeves back down and returned to his chicken sandwich. I realized I hadn't eaten since we started talking. Grabbing my burger, I forced myself to take a bite, chew, and swallow it. It went down in a thick, uncomfortable lump. I could feel the weight in my stomach.  
  
Duo declined when I offered him some of my fries, and I shrugged.  
  
"So what about you? You never thought about getting a tattoo or a piercing or something? Just for a change of pace."  
  
His question surprised me, falling in what had felt like it would become an awkward silence while we finished our meal. I didn't mind the distraction, though. After a moment of thought, I answered honestly. "No. I never thought about that."  
  
"Something, though?" He prompted, leaning back in his chair. His gaze was half-hooded, like he knew something I didn't.  
  
"That's normal," I told him, and my eyes cut out the window pointedly at my sedan. It was black and shiny in parking lot.  
  
Duo snickered. "The car?"  
  
I didn't bother nodding when the answer should be obvious. "It was a compromise. I was thinking of getting something a little different originally."  
  
"Sportier?" he suggested.  
  
I shrugged. "Something like that, maybe."  
  
He flashed me a harsh grin. "You should have gone for nipple rings. They're cheaper, and you don't have to insure them."  
  
I blinked. There was a note in his voice that was half teasing, but bitter.  
  
"That it?" He pressed after a moment.  
  
Shrugging, I told him, "I thought about doing a lot of things: traveling, getting a fast car, finding a new girlfriend. I don't know exactly what you're asking."  
  
"You answered it anyway, so don't worry," he said as he tossed aside the last bites of his sandwich and picked up his tray.  
  
"I wasn't," I replied, following.  
  
+  
  
In the end, what to do with Duo while I took a nap wasn't an issue. He suggested a solution before I even decided that the hours since I'd last slept had caught up with me. "You look about ready to pass out," he told me in the parking lot of the McDonalds, then suggested stopping at a rest area up the road a little way. If it was okay with me, he'd meet me there in a few hours. He had a couple things he wanted to get done while he was in a town, he said. If not, then thanks again for the ride.  
  
It sounded reasonable enough to me; I shrugged and told him that it was fine as long as he made it to the rest area before I left. I wouldn't wait for him.  
  
He agreed, smiling another of his strangely mutable smiles. "Perfect," he said, "I'll be there before you leave."  
  
I nodded, got into my car, and left him in the parking lot.  
  
The drive to the rest stop was one of those dangerous ones you don't remember afterwards. I remember pulling out of the parking lot and turning onto the street, I remember the headlights of on coming traffic, and waiting for a couple cars to pass. Then I remember splashing cold water on my face at the rest area sink. I think at the time, I could recall the short transit in between, but I don't now.  
  
Running wet hands through my hair, I saw my face in the mirror and resolved to go get some sleep. Bloodshot and blurry, my eyes agreed with me. I brushed my teeth, glad to get the taste of McDonalds out of my mouth. The mint toothpaste left my tongue feeling rough.  
  
I wondered if I was getting sick, but pushed the thought aside. I was too tired to even do the math and figure out how many hours of sleep I'd gotten in the last three days or so. Even before I drove off, my sleep had been suffering.  
  
And I wasn't eating--probably because I was tired.  
  
That made enough sense to shut up the small part of my mind that was worried, so I decided to believe it for the moment.  
  
After cleaning up a bit, I went back to my car. The seat tilted back far enough to allow me to recline. I couldn't lay down, but it would work for tonight. It seemed like no sooner had I leaned back that I fell directly asleep.  
  
And straight into a vague dream.  
  
It started with heat. I was somewhere warm. For an interminable while, that was all. Then I became more aware--I felt my clothes sticking to me, a movement of air that wasn't cool and couldn't be called a breeze. I was on my back, ground hard underneath me, looking up. My eyes were open, but I couldn't see anything. Either it was dark, or I was blind.  
  
I felt the heat clinging to the short hairs on my body, weighing them down so they stuck to my skin.  
  
My lungs struggled with the humidity, and I panted raggedly.  
  
I heard something. I'm not sure what. My own heartbeat. Rattling leaves. Birds. Water. I heard someone else, their breathing, their pulse, the murmurs of their body, close to mine.  
  
The taste in my mouth was bitterly metallic.  
  
I don't know what I smelled, but something. Too much to sort.  
  
Then I was feeling again.  
  
The sensations couldn't all come at once. They shuffled weirdly through my head, one or two, or three at a time.  
  
When I finally got to see, I didn't know what I saw. Textured darkness over my head. Moonlight, maybe. I could still hear water.  
  
Turning sideways, I arched my neck...  
  
I was panting...  
  
There was a hand braced beside my head, long, capable fingers digging into the ground.  
  
And tattoos circled up the forearm in half-obscured tribal patterns.  
  
I gasped, and the sensations grabbed me, poured over and through me, too much at once. A frisson circuited the length of my spine. Sweat beaded on my brow. A body over mine, pressing down on me. The air too wet to breath as I struggled not to hyperventilate.  
  
My stomach clenched and rolled.  
  
I came awake groping at the door, pushing out of my seat. The door opened jerkily when I finally found the handle. I spilled unceremoniously onto the asphalt on hands and knees. Shaking off the last jumbled fragments of my dream, I pushed upright and stumbled toward the toilets.  
  
I got as far as the grass before I started retching. It felt like something vital was trying to work its way up my throat. Tears squeezed out of the corners of my eyes as I coughed. I didn't make it to the bathroom.  
  
For some minutes I knelt there and brought up my dinner and more, dry heaving after there was nothing left in my stomach. Acid burned in my throat and my nose. Even when I was finished, I stayed on my knees in the grass for a long while, just shaking. It was cold, I realized. The winter air, nearly freezing, chilled the feverish sweat on my skin. It felt good, though. My dream was still with me under the skin, uncomfortably hot.  
  
+  
  
"There's no nice way to tell you this, buddy," Duo said, when he found me sitting on the curb beside my car. "But you look like warm shit."  
  
"Thanks," I said, rolling my eyes up to look at him. In the dark, he looked pale. "I feel like warm shit."  
  
"You want to get going, or are you cool sitting on the ground a while longer?"  
  
I sighed and hauled myself to my feet, frowning. I opened the car door, slid into the seat and brought it back upright. Then I unlocked the passenger door. I assumed that this answered his question.  
  
It was still hours away from being light, and I actually felt a bit better. The heat had finally dispersed in the predawn cold, and my mind was clearer for being free of it. However it ended, the nap had done me some good. The sleepy weight was mostly gone, replaced by a more manageable sting behind my eyes and an ache in my temples. I was ready to go.  
  
In fact, I'd been ready to go for awhile, that itch to move back between my shoulder blades and in the palms of my hands. Apparently, I had lied when I said I wouldn't wait for Duo, though.  
  
And I thought about my dream, and seeing his tattoos marking the otherwise unidentifiable body above mine. I was tempted to look when he sat down and lit a cigarette. Instead, I started the car and got back on the road.  
  
Duo's Lucky burnt down slowly. He played with it more than anything, and I remembered that kind of smoking--lighting a cigarette just so you could have something in your hands. Neither of us spoke while I found the quickest route back to the freeway. Once back on the wide, empty road, I felt some of the tension ease out of my shoulders.  
  
I didn't find the silence between us awkward, which is rare. Normally when two people who don't know each other well are together in a confined environment other than an elevator, the lack of conversation makes a hole. The day before, Duo had talked. Today he didn't seem to feel the need. We were some miles down the road when he asked if I minded him turning on the radio.  
  
I shrugged. "If you want."  
  
He flicked the remains of his cigarette out the window, then turned on the radio. Static came out of the speakers. Duo turned the stereo down, wincing. The first station he found was country. The singer didn't get out two full words before the twang in his vocals made it clear what kind of music it was. Next was talk, then some nice, non-offensive oldies. Duo made dissatisfied noises at each before changing the station.  
  
"Why is this always what you get outside of town?" he asked rhetorically, and changed the station again.  
  
After searching up and down, Duo found something he seemed able to deal with. I didn't recognize the song; it was something darkly electronic and slinky. I shot a glance at him as he lit another cigarette. Leaning back in his seat, his attention was fixed outside the window. The sky was lightening to a deep, true blue, the flat ground greyer beneath it. Scrawny bushes made silhouettes against the vivid sky. The song played out and was replaced by another. I thought I knew the voice, but I couldn't place the track. Other than tapping his fingers in time against his jeans, there was no hint as to whether Duo enjoyed the music or not.  
  
"So," he asked after another song or two, after his second cigarette had burnt out, "did you get any sleep at all?"  
  
"Some."  
  
"Not as much as you'd like, though?"  
  
Thinking of my dream, I wasn't sure. The heat of it flashed in my memory, and suddenly I felt like I might start sweating despite the car's cold interior. I opened the window, felt cool air and smelled sage. The sensation was very real by comparison, but also pale. I shrugged, realizing I hadn't answered, and he didn't press the issue.  
  
At five in the morning, the obligatory morning show came of the radio. It started with a local disk jockey reading the news; Duo groaned at shut the stereo off, returning us to our almost-comfortable silence.  
  
The rest of the day passed uneventfully.  
  
Sometimes we talked, but for the most part, we both seemed willing to keep to our own thoughts. My mind wandered, and I thought my conscience was starting to get to me, because at one point I was attacked by the sense that there was something I ought to be thinking about, doing, maybe somewhere I should be going instead of drifting through saltflats and broken hills. I thought about calling my brother--I couldn't find the inclination to talk to anyone else--but dismissed the idea. Whatever was nagging at me, that wasn't it.  
  
We only stopped once during the day, to fill up the gas tank and get lunch in a tiny town sprouting up on the side of the freeway. I apologized to Duo for not thinking about breakfast, but he shrugged it off. "It's not my favorite meal, anyway," he said, stirring his chili.  
  
Learning from yesterday, I'd ordered ham on white and a bottle of water. It went down easier than the Quarter Pounder had, and I hoped it would stay down. I wasn't queasy, at least, which I took for a good sign. I still ate slowly.  
  
Before long we were moving again, both happier for it. I relaxed behind the wheel. Duo smoked another cigarette. The car already smelled like I'd never quit, but I didn't particularly care. I didn't have a hard time ignoring it. When he finished, he pulled off his coat, and I watched, baffled, as he pushed up his left sleeve, revealing tattooed skin and a bandage. Fluid had seeped into the gauze, more yellow than red. The tape peeled off with a hiss.  
  
"What do you think?" he asked while he fumbled one handed through his duffel bag.  
  
The snake tattoo was no longer just a black outline. It was colored in red and grey and yellow. The skin around it was puffy and irritated. My attention traveled down his forearm and back up, and I wondered if the coiled images really matched those in my dream. Had I remembered them right? Was I sure it was his arm at all? It seemed likely that seeing his tattoos had inspired it, but the person above me in my dream could have been almost anyone. I hadn't seen a face or heard a voice.  
  
"Ah-ha!" Duo noised triumphantly and pulled out a tube of lotion, which he opened and smoothed liberally over his newly inked arm. Then he turned back to me. "Well? You didn't say what you thought of it."  
  
I could smell the lotion, faintly antiseptic. I recognized the hand, now that I looked, the square palm and long fingers. Shaking off my thoughts, I made myself hear what he said. "It looks good," I told him lamely. "It'll look better when it fades a little more, so it matches the rest of them."  
  
He smiled, satisfied. "Yeah. It's not my best, I think, but it's up there. I'm pretty happy with it."  
  
"I guess that's what's important."  
  
Duo nodded his agreement. "It shows that you have good taste if you agree with me though."  
  
I'd never seen a tattoo this fresh before, and I took my eyes away from the road to look a second time. Noting once again the angry red around the fresh ink, I found myself asking, "Does it hurt?"  
  
"Could be worse," Duo said, shrugging. "It doesn't hurt as much as, say, half a blowjob."  
  
Conversation petered out after that. The afternoon was a long, slow fading affair. I hardly noticed it was getting dark until someone flashed their headlights, reminding me to turn mine on. The grey sky turned blue, then purple, staining the ground with colors it didn't normally have. I was tired and sore from driving, and I contemplated finding somewhere to stop and stretch when I realized that what I really wanted was a bed. Every part of my body ached to lie down.  
  
Realizing it seemed to make the weight of how tired I was all the more real. I itched with it. Things that weren't there crawled through the edges of my vision; I blinked and refused to look toward them.  
  
It didn't take much consideration to decide that I needed to find a hotel and get a real night of sleep. I found a place with neon signs advertising a cable tv in every room and a pool. I only really cared about "vacancy."  
  
When I parked, Duo gave me a questioning look. I turned off the car and took the key out of the ignition. The night before I'd wondered what I'd do with him while I slept, but today I didn't give a shit what he did as long as I got some rest.  
  
"If you can't help pay for a double, you can sleep on the floor," I told him, and got out of the car. He grabbed his duffel and followed me. I did have enough presence of mind to set the car alarm, of which I am rather proud. Standing, the world tilted to the left instead of remaining flat.  
  
There was a woman behind the front counter watching a small television. She looked at the two of us, and I glanced back at Duo.  
  
"Single or double?" She asked indifferently.  
  
"Double," Duo said, and his wallet appeared in his hand as though by magic.  
  
The woman quoted a price which we split and paid, and gave us a pair of keys to room twenty-eight. I took the keys, tossed Duo his, and went to find the stairs. She yelled something after us about check out times. Maybe Duo caught what it was. I know I didn't, and didn't particularly care.  
  
A moment later, I unlocked the door and stepped into a dingy, bleach yellow room. I looked it over, taking a cursory inventory. Two beds--the most important thing to me--with a nightstand in between them; dresser against the opposite wall, a television and phone on top; thick brown curtains covered the only window.  
  
"Not quite the Belagio," Duo commented from behind me, and I heard his bag land on the floor. The door shut, and locked behind us.  
  
I grunted. It was the most intelligent response I could muster just then.  
  
Within minutes I was in bed, tucked between cool, impersonal sheets. I could hear Duo as he took a shower: water hissing out of the head and hitting skin, beating against the plastic curtain. The sound followed me into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Saro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

The heat was back. It was heavy, stifling and black. I groaned, shifted against it instinctively. I could hear my own breath wheezing fast just behind my ear, barely audible over the pounding rush of my frenetic heartbeat. I blinked, trying to see, but couldn't focus.  
  
I could hear water, lapping at its banks, laughing as it moved over rocks, pattering through leaves. Rain, and a stream, maybe. I couldn't tell. I couldn't think clearly enough to.  
  
I was sticky. Sweat rolled down my face, or maybe it was the rain. I felt grit against my damp skin, felt damp hands travel over me. They groped across my stomach and chest, my shoulders and arms. I reached back, found a hard body over mine.  
  
My partner shifted forward, and his hands landed hard on either side of my head.  
  
The arms, pale shadows in the dark, were coiled with strange designs.  
  
I looked for the snake swallowing its tail.  
  
The body moved over mine. He was part of the heat, part of the dark and the water...  
  
I could hardly make out the tattoos. The dim or my own blurry vision turned them into arcane patterns.  
  
Skin rasped and stuck, stuttering against skin...  
  
Vaguely, I thought I could make out a knot under his left elbow where the snake should be. I couldn't tell the colors, but it didn't matter. I knew them anyway.  
  
Fingers curled--mine on his thighs or his in the dirt, it didn't matter.  
  
My back bowed up, my mouth open around a noise that wouldn't come out, eyes squeezing shut on their own.  
  
I tasted warm, stale water, sweat, smoke. Salt and bitter.  
  
A shudder passed between us, starting in him and moving to me.  
  
Was it the snake?  
  
I woke all at once, sitting up. My stomach was thankfully steady, but my heart was racing in my ears and my whole body pulsed in time. Consciously, I slowed the rattled pace of my breathing. I don't know how long it took for my body to quiet, but it seemed like a very long time to me then. My hands shook when I lifted them to scrub at my eyes.  
  
Duo was still asleep in the other bed. He lay on his back, braid trailing across the pillow. His breathing was soft and regular, not quite snoring. I couldn't really make out his face in the dark, I realized, just the lighter shape outlined against his hair and bedding. I groaned as the blood which had been pounding in my ears pooled somewhere lower, and let myself fall back to the mattress.  
  
So, I wondered, why wasn't I screaming, "What the fuck?" That was probably my line right about now. One disjointed dream isn't hard to shrug off. Two should be less so. But I found myself inclined to do just that. It wasn't apathy. I did care about the dream and my reaction to it. But I wasn't sure how to respond, and I couldn't see how was worth getting upset over.  
  
My brain worried at the problem while I lay there. Finally, it supplied me with a question I could see the importance of: was I attracted to him awake?  
  
I studied the ceiling while I thought, my eyes tracking the blotched shadows that wheeled across it whenever a car drove by. The curtains didn't keep out all the light. In fact, they seemed to let in more than enough to get around by.  
  
Was I attracted to Duo? Was that why I had these dreams?  
  
I couldn't answer immediately. I hadn't actively thought of Duo as attractive, nor had I looked for anything compelling in him.  
  
I couldn't think of having ever found another man attractive, but again, I couldn't think of ever looking at them either. Women were the standard, and there had been women. I remembered finding things in them interesting--the soft curves of their hips and thighs, the shape of a breast, their slim fingers and wrists.  
  
My wandering mind went back to Duo's forearms, how different they were from a woman's, muscles and veins well defined beneath the skin and ink. They weren't soft or sleek. They were sinewy, and looked like they could do things, like my own. I swallowed as more details flashed through my mind's eye. The texture of hair over his tattoos, catching the light through the window at McDonalds. The way the muscle slid easily as he gestured. Speculations about what his upper arms and shoulders might look without a shirt appeared, followed by how his collarbone might arch over a hard chest. His neck wasn't thick, but it wasn't slender either. It was long, and the faint lump of his adam's apple moved when he talked or when he laughed.  
  
I thought of his mutable smiles, shifting from friendly to abrasive as one corner of his mouth hitched up higher than the other. When his smile slid away, it left a strange, unreadable expression on his face, something almost a sneer, but not. His eyes changed, but the emotions behind them remained indecipherable, like the water of a very deep lake.  
  
I thought of his hands moving along with his words, how they fidgeted with a cigarette, hiding one bad habit with another, when he'd fingered his first tattoo as he pointed it out to me, the way they'd touched me in my dream.  
  
One of my hands went unconsciously to rub the erection pressing against my jeans. Yes, it was safe to say I was attracted to him.  
  
Sighing heavily, I relented to the unpleasant reality what I wasn't going back to sleep. I was too warm, had too much energy thrumming through me, and my dick was begging for some attention. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and went to take my own shower.  
  
The water came out hot and strong, sluicing over my body. I bent into it and washed quickly, scrubbing until my skin was pink. It felt like washing away a lifetime's worth of grime, but I had only left four days ago. I had trouble believe it had only been that long. Thinking too much about what came before that made the bottom drop out of my stomach and the skin between my shoulders twitch, as though I thought someone was going to come and drag me back.  
  
I kept the shower short. Lather my body, wash my hair, jerk off. It was disturbingly like being home again. I closed my eyes and shook my head, denying the similarity. A moment later, I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.  
  
Drying off, I realized that I didn't have anything to wear. Nothing that I wanted to wear. Everything with me had seen at least a day of action, if not more, and I was hesitant to put any of it on when I finally felt clean.  
  
I was still pondering the dilemma of my dirty clothing when Duo woke up. He found me with a towel wrapped around my hips, blinked sleepily, and asked why the hell I was standing around naked. Not, he added, that he was complaining. Just curiosity.  
  
I told him. He laughed. I scowled.  
  
"Hold one just a minute," he said between snickers, then crossed the hotel room and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. In the light, he unzipped his duffel bag and picked through it. After studying and discarding a few items, he picked out a long sleeved black tee-shirt and a pair of camouflage pants. He wadded them up and tossed the bundle to me.  
  
I caught it one handed.  
  
"I must be a really nice guy," Duo said, smiling wryly, "letting a gym bunny like you stretch out my clothes."  
  
Grunting, I studied the bundle of clothes skeptically. I could picture Duo wearing them and not exciting a reaction. He looked like the kind of person who would wear this sort of thing just because it was there, because he'd bought it cheap. On the other hand, I had the feeling I'd look like one of those kids who listen to deathmetal and wear jewelry with spikes on it. The fact that a shirt that fit Duo right would be too small in the shoulders and chest on me wouldn't help any. It was the difference in our builds, and our personalities.  
  
"Thanks," I said after a minute, making a mental note to stop at a laundromat at some point, and a Good Will.  
  
"No problem. Now get dressed and we can fuck this popsicle stand."  
  
I snorted, not quite laughing, and got dressed. It didn't occur to me until after I changed that I'd done so in front of Duo. It wasn't something I worried about under normal circumstances, but with that dream still fresh in my mind, I caught myself throwing a glance his direction to see if he watched and trying to remember how he'd looked at me with just the towel on. He was watching me, but his blue eyes and crooked smile were inscrutable.  
  
"Yeah," he said with mock sadness, "you are definitely gonna stretch out my shirt." Maybe he was jealous. I wondered if the fact the pants were too long would make him feel better about that, and decided not to bring it to his attention.  
  
Duo dressed while I brushed my teeth and hair. I could hear him rummaging through his duffel bag and moving around. Getting ready to go, even though there really wasn't that much to do. Neither of us needed more preparation to leave than grabbing our things. If we wanted, we could probably be in the car and on the road again in less than fifteen minutes. That was a strangely comforting realization.  
  
In reality, it took more like twenty five minutes.  
  
+  
  
It was dark still when we got back on the highway, but the sky was turning blue by the time we were away from cities again. Duo smoked his first cigarette in the car and talked to fill the silence. I listened to the steady rise and fall of his voice rather than the words. When I looked his direction, I noticed that he wasn't fiddling as much with his cigarette as he normally did. I looked more often than I should have.  
  
I missed the punch line of the story he was telling about his friend who worked at the DMV while I watched his thumb playing idly over the butt of his cigarette. He looked at me expectantly, anticipating a response, and I pulled my attention back to the road.  
  
"What was that?" I asked. I could feel his gaze on the side of my face like something tangible. Heat or wind or rain.  
  
"Don't worry about it," he said after a moment. He was smiling. I heard it in his voice. "It's not worth repeating."  
  
I tried to keep my eyes forward after that. Duo made no such effort. The weight of his gaze was firmly fixed on me, making me only too aware of the fact that I was pale, the circles under my eyes deeply scored despite a finally getting some sleep. I'd seen it in the mirror in the hotel room, and but it only affected me there. I knew my hair refused to do anything but stick out in a haphazard tangle. The long silence that followed was not comfortable for me.  
  
+  
  
Duo's clothes smelled like him. Cigarettes, exhaust and road dust, with something musky and unidentified behind it. I learned that when we stopped for food at a drive through and turned my head nearly into my shoulder while ordering. Afterward I couldn't help but be aware of it. A part of me wanted to smell it again and try to name that strange, lurking scent as aftershave or incense, but Duo would have seen it. The thought of him laughing kept me still.  
  
It became more and more difficult not to look, too, and every time I looked, Duo saw it. With the fixed weight of Duo's gaze on me, I didn't for a moment pretend he hadn't noticed that time this morning when his hand had sidetracked me so completely. I couldn't pretend I hadn't been distracted by it. There was something about his hands--once I noticed them, I couldn't help but be fascinated. They made me think of the tattoos crawling up his arms. They reminded me of my dreams.  
  
They were strong, capable hands, and suddenly I very much wanted to know what it would feel like to be touched by hands like that.  
  
I took a scenic highway. It was an arbitrary choice that I tried to justify to myself with less traffic and the potential to try the BMW's handling on something tighter than broad freeway turns. Then I realized that if I wanted to go that way, I could.  
  
For a long while there wasn't much to see: broken rocks, sage brush, and the occasional scrubby pine tree.  
  
That changed at sunset. Red light spilled over the grey ground and stained the mountains an ashy purple. The boulders and bushes cast long, dark blue shadows. It was like because the land was harsh and empty, all the colors could rush in to fill it. The sun was a deep orange that didn't belong in an early winter sky. We pulled over at one of the many view points. I didn't remember deciding to; it just happened that way.  
  
After a long, quiet moment of watching the sun inch down the sky, Duo shrugged into his leather jacket.  
  
"I'm gonna get some air," he explained, opening the door. Then he stepped outside and the car door shut behind him.  
  
Outside, he lit a cigarette and leaned against the hood of my car. Red and yellow caught in his hair and made oily reflections off his coat. I thought about getting out to join him, stretching my legs, but I liked being able to watch him watching the sunset. It was cold outside, but the late sun slanting through the windshield was comfortable. The smell of Duo's shirt seemed stronger, as though it had needed the warmth to bring it all the way out. I still couldn't place it. Musky or spicy or bittersweet--it wasn't something I could name.  
  
The twilight made Duo look pale and travel worn, his eyes shadowed. He finished his cigarette and tossed the butt in the gravel. I thought maybe he'd come back, but he just folded his arms and waited. It was a long sunset, colors deepening from indigo to violet, and finally a clear, almost perfect blue. The brightest stars started to peek out. Before long the sky would be full of them.  
  
Duo tilted his head back, baring the lean curve of his throat to the sun as it fell under the horizon. It would have been more dramatic if there were wind to stir his bangs, but the air was still.  
  
I thought of my dream, of him over me, moving with me. My waking mind lent clarity to the nighttime fantasy, providing me with clearer images of what he would look like with sweat rolling down his body and how it might feel to be that close to a body that wasn't soft, that wasn't smooth or delicate. Vaguely, I remembered the smell in my dream, thick and unknown. I breathed in the scent around me and wondered, but my memory wasn't that good.  
  
More stars had appeared and the light was a thin lavender band on the horizon before Duo came back inside. Cold and sage and smoke clung to him instead of humidity. He didn't say anything. I could hear the creak of the leather upholstery taking his weight, feel the car shift.  
  
"You ready to head out?" he asked, eventually, stripping off his jacket again.  
  
I didn't answer. I wasn't sure. Part of me was anxious to be moving again. That restlessness was always in the back of my mind. But I thought, perhaps, that I'd rather stay here awhile longer.  
  
Duo was putting lotion on his new tattoo again. He rolled up his sleeve and found the same tube he had before. Without the dome light, the marks scrolling along his arm were like those in my dream: indecipherable as anything other than whorls of line against the lighter shade of his skin.  
  
"May I see?" I heard myself ask.  
  
Angling a guarded look through his hair, he offered me his left arm. His pupils were large in the dark. Swallowing hard, I reached out and grabbed it, turning it over so I could see the snake curled around itself and swallowing its tail. It was the first time I'd touched him; the contact jolted through my hand. His skin was hot and cold at the same time.  
  
My eyes strained to trace the lines of his tattoo in the near darkness. I could see it when I focused, though the colors were all lost to grey. I could see the tendons in his arm and the veins that ran from wrist to elbow, disappearing beneath his shirt. In the light, they would have been bluish at points. Not like a woman's arm at all. Even his skin seemed harder. I licked my lips, but my tongue was suddenly dry. My thumb moved over one of the tattoos absently while I studied his arm.  
  
He was speaking. I think he'd been speaking the whole while, but I only now heard it. The words were irrelevant, but I heard the rasp in his voice. The sound trickled down my spine.  
  
I wanted to see more. I wanted to see all of his tattoos, wanted to see what was hidden under his shirt and his jeans. Touching him burnt my hand, but I couldn't let go. Suddenly my palms were sweaty, slick and sticky against the short hair on his forearm. The heat of my dream crawled into my gut, seeped into my limbs and clouded my mind.  
  
"Heero," he said, my name lancing through the haze briefly. "Do you know what you're doing?"  
  
For an answer, I leaned in slowly and kissed his wrist. His pulse danced under my lips and his breathe caught audibly in his chest. That seemed to be all the reply he needed.  
  
He caught my chin between those fingers of his and pulled me up to kiss his mouth. I tasted his cigarettes, harsh and bitter, and salt from his upper lip. I cupped his cheek, surprised to feel rough stubble. Duo took the lead for the moment, his tongue darting past my lips to swipe at my teeth. Opening my mouth, I invited him in.  
  
His acceptance was eager. He ran his tongue across mine and tasted the smooth flesh of my cheek, pulled my lower lip into his mouth and scrapped his teeth over it. Then his tongue dove in again, tangling with mine, drawing the kiss out. I groaned. Small, furtive sounds vibrated against my lips. Pushing me back into the seat, he half-climbed over the center console. His callused hands held my face, tilted my head back and to the side.  
  
And his eyes were open the whole while, nearly lost in the dark. My own eyes felt weighted at the corners. I saw him through my eye lashes. I saw the intense look that came into his face when he kissed me, and knew he couldn't be young.  
  
My hands went to his waist, rose again under his shirt. Strong muscles shifted under my palms. I could feel the ridges of his vertebrae, the sinuous line of his backbone. Shivering, I pulled away. I wanted the shirt off. Now.  
  
I'm not sure whether or not I said something. Either way, he didn't protest when I pulled the shirt over his head. The sleeve caught on his watchband; he yanked it free, and then pulled his hair out. The braid fell against my shoulder, slithering between us before he tossed it behind him.  
  
His chest was pale, skin almost glowing in the light off the dashboard. Tattoos wound up his right arm nearly to the shoulder, where they became thinner and less finished. It made him look unbalanced, with one arm completely covered and the other only half done. The black ring through his right nipple added to the impression.  
  
My eyes were drawn to the jewelry. Some comment he'd made before fluttered through my mind without finding a hold as I studied him. I touched his flat abdomen, watching as his skin twitched in response. I traced his body's contours, following them up, fascinated by the way his breathe made his ribs expand. One finger looped through his nipple ring, and I tugged it softly.  
  
Duo hissed sharply. I started to let go, but he caught my hand. "Don't tease me, Heero."  
  
I swallowed hard, panting, and wondered when the inside of my car got so hot. Sweat beaded on my skin. My borrowed shirt clung to the small of my back and stuck to the seat beneath me. I tugged again, harder, and he gritted his teeth.  
  
Duo moved, awkward in the confined space, scrambling the rest of the way over the console and straddling my legs. I only had to lean forward a little way and bend my neck to catch the ring in my mouth. It tasted of metal, cold as I flicked it with my tongue. A shudder ran up through him.  
  
Then his hands were in my hair, blunt fingernails raking across my scalp and tipping my head so he could kiss me again. His lips pressed against mine, demanding. I licked those lips, worried them gently between my teeth.  
  
His hand dropped to the front of my pants, rubbing at the erection that pressed against the cloth. He flipped open the button, pulled the zipper down one tooth at a time. I pressed up, a frustrated noise in my throat. He shushed me, caressing my neck and running fingers through my hair. His thumb played over my ear and gave me a tingling shock. I swear I could feel the heat of his hand before he finally reached into my pants and pulled out my dick.  
  
My dream flashed through my mind, contrasting with the interior of the BMW. There was no water. No strange sounds. Only the dark, and the noise of the car's shocks responding to our movements, and the stars coming to life in vivid, milky clusters outside.  
  
Duo flat-palmed my erection, snapping me back to the moment. His mouth touched my neck, teeth an unyielding edge behind soft lips. His fingers wrapped around me, moving in slow, sure strokes. It only occurred to me to wonder how far he'd take us when the seat abruptly started to recline. Or maybe I knew from the beginning, the second I kissed his wrist, or touched his skin, or saw his tattoos. The first time I saw him walking down the side of the road. The first time I saw his arms in my dream. I didn't know, and I didn't care.  
  
I held his hips while he kissed me and stroked me. They were as firm and angular as the rest of him, and somehow it was like this was what I'd wanted all along. I knew, in some corner of my brain, that I had enjoyed the feel of a woman's hips, the way they flared down from her waist, the soft give of a feminine body in my hands, but I couldn't imagine how. I reveled in the planes of his stomach, the play of bone and muscle visible above his jeans.  
  
I hooked my fingers into the top of his pants, dragging them down as much as I could.  
  
Duo took the hint. Stretching along one side of me and pressing close, he reached down to take off his boots, then squirmed out of his jeans. The stainless steel glint of his other piercing caught my attention, made me blink. Duo's grin shown similarly. "What do you think?" His breath ghosted against my cheek, carrying the words with it.  
  
I wanted to answer, but I couldn't think at all. I turned toward that smile, met his mouth with mine. Lucky Strikes and salt, and something almost sweet. My eyes hooded, but I still watched him, tried to see our lips as they brushed over one another and our tongues. I could smell sage and pine still clinging to him, unable to hide the smell from my dream. I did recognize it. I still had no idea what it was.  
  
He pulled himself on top of me again, balanced on his knees and toes, and I slid down in the seat, pressing my hips to his.  
  
"What now?" I asked, and my voice was thick. My hands wandered over his calves and thighs, back toward his chest.  
  
His grin changed, became something dark. He leaned in close to me, nuzzled the collar of his shirt. I heard him breathe me in. "What now?" he repeated, like it was a joke. "Let's see..."  
  
He reached past me, opened his bag. I heard him search, saw his arm work, tattoos wavering as I looked at them. He braced himself with one hand on the seat next to my head; a warm rush went to my groin where it curled out into a full body flush.  
  
It wasn't long before Duo found what he was looking for. He pulled back, leaving empty air next to me. I felt cold with out him there. A noise of protest fought its way up from my chest. I could see the bottle, though, and I knew what it was.  
  
He didn't waste time, wetting one hand and stroking me again, then taking care of himself. He was quicker than I would have been if it was my ass, but I understood his rush. I shared it. Urgency charged the air like static electricity. When he was finished, he tossed the bottle to the passenger floor board.  
  
I lay there very still, trembling while he moved over me. I think I was afraid that if I made a mistake, I'd wake up, even though I knew it wasn't a dream.  
  
He lowered himself onto me, a pressure that dragged against me. I couldn't hear over the sound of my pulse in my ears and my own ragged breathing. My eyes squeezed shut. There was only that grip, the feel of his body over mine. Then his hands hit the leather by my head and I opened my eyes, turned my head to look.  
  
It was so familiar, but so different. The heat that pressed against me and fogged the windows was only us. It was all only us. I arched into him, feet looking for purchase on the floor-mat.  
  
Duo didn't wait. When he's taken my dick as far in as he would, his legs flexed, thighs cording as he lifted himself. Down again, taking me further. The feeling of his muscles under my hands was new, but not strange. I went for his nipple ring again, flicked it, tugged on it. I couldn't help myself. I liked the noises that he made when I did that, and the way he grimaced. Duo set the pace, insinuating his body closer to mine with every roll of his hips.  
  
Dreams and reality blurred. He was wearing a watch, which had never been there before, but I'd never seen him take it off, and the impression it was wrong confused me. Sensations spun through me, damp cloth and sticky leather, skin. The teasing glint of metal at the head of his cock, drawing my hand to it. I felt like a magpie, attracted to the shine, but Duo didn't protest when I took hold of his erection. Unlike the nipple ring, I had no idea what to do with this. I stroked up his length, played with the ring as I circled the head with my fingers.  
  
He grunted. Not a loud noise, but it reached me. Had he gasped like that in my dream? Had he moaned? I couldn't remember, but I wanted to hear it now.  
  
He was steady over me, dipping in, rising up on arms and legs.  
  
I thrust into him, matching his rhythm as well as I could.  
  
It was fucking. It was fucking in the front seat of my car, no less. There was no extra room, and in some corner of my mind I hoped that no one drove by, and that neither of us hit the clutch or the parking break. I'd be lying if I made it sound more romantic than that, but it was what we both wanted.  
  
Duo's head lolled, chin to chest while his face screwed up in an expression that would have been funny under any other circumstance--like he was baring his teeth, and at the same time fighting to swallow. His eyes were slits, brows drawn down and puckered. I touched his face, scraped his bangs away from his forehead. His hair was damp with sweat. It clung to my hand.  
  
He pressed a clumsy kiss to my palm. That one point was like a brand pressed to my hot body.  
  
I choked, forgetting how to breath.  
  
He came first. His rhythm broke. Tense one moment, relaxed and swaying above me the next. I saw his mouth hanging open, his eyes finally shut. There was a mess on his shirt, warm against my stomach.  
  
I followed a moment later. Steadying his hips, I pushed up into him. I remember my temples pounding, whole body thrumming like an engine. I remember opening my mouth and saying something. If it was his name, I'd be amazed. I'm not sure I knew my own.  
  
...dripping, sated heat. Red sky, partially hidden by a canopy of leaves. Arms held me close. We coiled together like snakes in winter. And like reptiles, neither of us really had any warmth to share...  
  
The flash of dream leaked out of my mind and I lay wrung out, trembling beneath Duo. Shaking, he sat back. I slipped out of him with a wince. After a little scrambling and clumsy maneuvering, he flopped down in the passenger seat. His panting was an uneven counterpoint to my own.  
  
That strange, almost sweet smell was thick around me, mingling with the atmosphere of our sex. Hardly thinking, I popped my door open and a shock of cold air rolled over me. A few deep, controlled breaths brought me down slowly from the high.  
  
Duo choked in surprise, and I remembered he was still naked. I muttered an apology. He waved it off, though. Shaking himself, Duo pulled on his jacket and his jeans. I noticed he left the button on his jeans undone before he leaned back in his seat.  
  
I lay back, closed my eyes, and let my head clear.  
  
+  
  
I think I dozed off. It was later than it should have been when I opened my eyes again, and I was cold. My clothes had dried to me, and I realized with a sort of belated embarrassment that I hadn't even zipped up my fly. Running hands through my hair, I found it clumped and sticking out at haphazard angles--nothing I could fix without a comb.  
  
"I think," I said, then stopped to work some moisture back into my mouth. I tried again. "I think we should get cleaned up, and find some place to do laundry."  
  
His lighter snicked; cigarette smoke wafted my direction.  
  
"Sounds like a plan." His voice was rougher than usual, huskier. It brushed at the back of my neck.  
  
I nodded, straightening myself out cursorily, and brought my seat back upright. Duo still wasn't really dressed. His bangs matched my hair, dried into dark spikes and sticking to his face here and there. His nipple ring peeked out from under his coat as he shifted lazily to bring the cigarette to his mouth.  
  
Closing my door, I started the car. Reverse, glance at the mirrors as though there was something to see, pull back. The actions were familiar, and they helped ground me. I needed something to concentrate on other than the man next to me; the smell and the feel, and the taste that lingered in my mouth.  
  
I found myself thinking about my family, and how they'd react if they knew about this. Any of this. Picturing how I would tell them, I started to script the scene in my head. I would couch the words in the code I'd grown up with, the one that's supposed to sound polite. In reality, it always sounds minced and condescending.  
  
I could see my brother's jaw--the one he'd inherited from his father--tighten. His wife would get that look of hers, turning up the edges of her eyes while she bared her teeth and pretended it was a tolerant smile. She wasn't as good at that as Duo. Mother, she would just blink twice rapidly. She might draw back just a little, depending on how she felt about homosexuality, and if she believed that I was gay. That was the only way she ever showed surprise.  
  
She would recover first. She'd ask me about Duo. What does he do? I mean, does he have a career or a plan...oh. What do you know about his family? Do you know anything about him at all? The whole while, she'd be choking on her own propriety. She'd have that light her dark eyes. The one that said that she wanted to yell, she wanted to cry and worry, but wouldn't crack her face to do so.  
  
I might tell her I didn't know. I hadn't been looking for a relationship, and I still wasn't. It just happened.  
  
My brother, who would have been trying to stay reasonable, would lose his temper then. He didn't have our mother's control. Or maybe he's barely more than two years younger than I am, and he still remembered fighting as kids.  
  
He'd demand to know why I didn't tell them if I was gay. He would assume that was the case, and that I had hidden it from them. It would explain why I didn't want to get married and have a brood of children. He never could understand that having a life like that just didn't appeal to me. So why did I let them know this way? Why didn't I tell them before? I could hear him saying that they were my family.  
  
I could hear them talking about responsibility and sympathy.  
  
But first, he would demand what the hell I was thinking.  
  
Would you believe I wasn't?  
  
Gritting my teeth, I was suddenly glad to be on a deserted side track in the middle of nowhere, alone with a man I hardly knew and had just had sex with. I didn't think I could be the person who sat through my family right now. It just took too much energy to shrug off their good intentions.  
  
Duo didn't talk while we drove, which was fine with me. He smoked another cigarette, then put on his boots without socks. His smile was more a smirk. It was a lazy, humorless expression, neither young nor old.  
  
I almost chuckled. My family would have hated him, and he wouldn't give a good goddamn.  
  
Around five in the morning or so, we hit a town just big enough to consider itself a city. After stopping and checking the listings at a payphone, then wandering through what passed for downtown for the better part of half and hour, we managed to find a laundomat. It was all white appliances and harvest gold linoleum under stuttering florescent lights. Other than one woman sorting her clothes at the end of a row of washing machines, the place was deserted.  
  
The woman cast a look over her shoulder at us when we entered. Her eyes flicked from Duo to me and back again before she turned away. I think we frightened her a little; I could feel the tension from her. I shouldn't have been surprised. Knowing what we looked like, I can't say I blamed her.  
  
Duo picked a washing machine and started pulling clothes out of his duffel bag, making a pile on the floor. In my hands was a plastic sack with my entire small wardrobe inside. It wasn't even two complete changes of clothes. I frowned, thinking about it. I couldn't remember a time I'd been so unprepared. I took more with me on a day trip to the beach.  
  
Catching my attitude, Duo interrupted my thoughts. "I'm clean, if that's what you're worried about."  
  
"It wasn't," I told him, meeting his gaze. It occurred to me that it probably should have been, all things considered. I hadn't even thought about it until he mentioned something. Our encounter flashed through my head again, and I saw the notable lack of a condom. I didn't have one, though. I also remembered the lube in Duo's bag. He seemed to have planned ahead.  
  
I commented on as much.  
  
"I believe in always being prepared," he said and snickered.  
  
"You don't strike me as much of a boy scout."  
  
"Oh, I wasn't." He paused to smell a shirt, winced and threw it in the pile. "But I did end up with Crisco up my ass once, and after that I decided it was better to be prepared."  
  
"Crisco?" I asked, before I could stop myself. I'm not sure I would have held it back if I could.  
  
Shrugging, Duo elaborated. "You use what's around. Crisco, butter, suntan oil, beer--I'm happy to say I wasn't bottoming on the beer experiment." I wondered if my face was as blank as it felt. I guess it was, because he changed the subject. "So what were you scowling about?"  
  
"I need to go clothes shopping," I said aloud, though more to myself than Duo.  
  
Duo smiled wryly. "You think?"  
  
"Probably not as often as I should."  
  
The comment took Duo off guard. His eyes widened a little and his smile took on an incredulous edge. His mouth opened a little, as though he was about to say something, then closed again, and he gave a shake of his head. I don't think he made that face often, but I liked it. It was open in a way that highlighted just how reserved most of his expressions were.  
  
He recovered quickly. My bag was snatched out of my hands, and its meager contents dumped on top of his pile of clothes. An indulgent smile firmly glued itself to his face. "You go shop. I'll take care of these."  
  
"It's not even six in the morning," I said.  
  
"So?" Duo asked, looking me over. He arched one eyebrow, then went back to sifting through clothes. "What time does Wal-Mart open?"  
  
I had no idea. The smile took on an edge. Something cold and bitter, like day old coffee.  
  
"Ever been to a Wal-Mart, Heero? Could be sort of educational. Fat women in stretch pants. Townies with nothing better to do than get high and wander around the aisles." He chose a shirt seemly at random and threw it at me. I caught it, unfolded it, and looked at the front skeptically. It was white, with colored bubbles and the words "Wonder Bread" written across the chest.  
  
"Staying true to my roots," Duo explained. "But you'll probably want to change out of that shirt before you go." Sensing that I was being dismissed, I obeyed.  
  
+  
  
For the record, Wal-Mart opened at seven. The coffee kiosk across the street, on the other hand, opened at five am, and I had an hour to kill. I was thirsty for something warm. It was a chilly morning, just above freezing, and the wind soaked through my clothes like cold water. Duo's Wonder Bread tee shirt wasn't up to the challenge of holding it out, even under my coat.  
  
When I looked at the menu, nothing was what I wanted. There wasn't a line behind me so I didn't feel any pressure to hurry. On the other side of the counter, an Asian girl with blonde streaks bleached in her dark hair eyed me up and down. Tucking her shaggy bangs behind her ear, she said, "If you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them. I've tried just about everything."  
  
She smiled a wide, waxy pink smile that showed off straight white teeth. I nodded and went back to looking at the list.  
  
The coffees had cute names. A white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of vanilla was called White-on-White. A triple shot mocha with chocolate sprinkles on top was a Black Hole. The Morning Buzz had honey in it. I winced inwardly as I read them. Whoever named some of these had a warped sense of humor. "The Virgin was served with a cherry. Get it?" That sort of sense of humor. I got it, but it still wasn't funny  
  
There was a Duo Espresso, with or without cream. My mouth twitched involuntarily at that one; already had it. I nearly laughed. It was stupid, but a wave of relief hit me hard, breaking through the post-coital depression and introspection.  
  
The girl's face told me that I was taking too long. The smile was thinner, less inviting. Her nails clicked audibly against the countertop. I abandoned the menu and just ordered the house blend. She didn't roll her eyes until she thought I couldn't see it. Pulling my coat tighter against a gust, I waited for my coffee.  
  
"Dollar-fifty," the girl said when she came back. I paid and took the cup. Even through the insulation, it was warm enough to burn my cold fingers. I stood there for a moment, letting the heat work into my hands.  
  
"Thanks." I took a sip of the coffee. It wasn't really that good, but it wasn't awful either. The warmth crept down my throat and hit my empty stomach, spreading out from there. I sighed and savored the feeling.  
  
The girl's smile came back full force and she nodded. Her bangs fell forward from behind her ear. She shook her head to clear the hair in front of her eyes. "Come again," she said. "You can try something else next time."  
  
"I'm only in town for the day," I told her and took another drink.  
  
"Oh," she said, looking a little disappointed. Then she asked, doubtfully, "Business?"  
  
I shook my head. "Just passing through."  
  
She leaned forward, elbows on the counter, arms crossed beneath her breasts. "Where are you coming from?"  
  
I tried to remember the name of the last town and couldn't. Most of the little towns struck me as about the same. Gas station and convenience store, sometimes in one, a bar, and more churches than they had restaurants. I looked over my shoulder, and up at the blank, early morning blue sky, then gestured the direction I thought was northwest. When I turned back, there was a line between the girl's brows.  
  
"So, that's like Tri-Cities?" she asked after a moment.  
  
I shrugged. "I think so, yeah. I was there a couple days back."  
  
"Wow. So, have you heard about the murder then?"  
  
I looked up. Her eyes had a sparkle in them. "No. Should I have?"  
  
"It's in this morning's paper," the girl told me. "That makes three." She was excited to tell me about it. I could almost feel it, the vitality prickling in the air like static electricity. Her smile turned into a grin.  
  
"Three?" I could guess, but the word was out before I could stop it.  
  
"Bodies," she explained obligingly. "They were saying the first two might be unrelated, but with a third... it's like a serial killer or something. They're not releasing all the details, but I guess it's pretty weird. No pattern yet, except that all the bodies have neck trauma."  
  
I took another sip of my coffee and glanced at my watch. Forty more minutes. I made a noise and let her decide if it sounded interested or not.  
  
Apparently, she thought it did. "Yeah. They just found the last one yesterday. Some guy in the Tri-Cities." She made a paper appear from under the counter and held it out so I could see the picture on the front page. It showed man around thirty or so, I guessed, with rings through his nose and eyebrow, and dangling from his ears. A tattoo crept up his neck. The tag line under the photo said that the missing tattoo artist had been found dead in a drainage ditch near his parlor yesterday afternoon.  
  
Duo's tattoo flashed through my mind unbidden, the possibility unfolding as a pressure in my chest, a tightness in my throat. I pushed the half-formed idea aside forcibly. Just because a tattoo artist had been killed in the area didn't incriminate Duo. It wasn't that big a coincidence. My attention moved to the headline, but it was more or less the same information. From what I could see of the article, it dealt more with the dead man and his family than the murder.  
  
"This is today's paper?" I asked.  
  
The girl nodded. "Yeah, it's today's. Are you alright?"  
  
"Fine," I answered without thinking. "Were the other murders in the same area?" If they were, it would have to be a coincidence.  
  
It was probably a coincidence anyway, I told myself sternly, but the image of Duo's freshly colored arm and opaque blue eyes was fixed in my mind.  
  
"No," she said, pulling the paper back and opening to the second page. Her dark eyes skimmed down the lines. "The first showed up about a month ago on the other side of the Stateline. The other turned up at a rest stop off the Interstate. The police think it's a transient." I got the feeling she was paraphrasing from the article.  
  
"It's crazy," the girl commented, setting aside the newspaper. "But I suppose if it happened in New York or L.A or somewhere like that, no one would even blink. People expect murders in places like that."  
  
I nodded absently as she spoke. Remembering my coffee, I took another slow drink. People got killed. It happened.  
  
"I guess that's why I stick around here. I always wanted to go somewhere bigger, but I don't think I'd feel safe."  
  
I grunted a reply to that. "I know what you mean." A lot of people seemed to do or not do things because they wanted to feel safe. It was like that line of commuters going to work the morning I left, doing the same thing day after day because it was familiar, and it felt safe. I'd done that. It seemed like another life.  
  
"But you're traveling," she observed inanely.  
  
"Yeah, I am," I told her. A smile tugged my lips, and I turned away. "Have a nice day."  
  
"Take it easy," she replied as I left.  
  
I told myself that Duo hadn't done it while I walked back across the street, but my brain seemed bent on turning over that possibility. Not because it was frightening, or it worried me, but because it was there. I wasn't afraid of Duo. Or maybe I wasn't afraid to die. I remembered his touch, his taste, the way he looked above me awake and the way it felt dreaming. I wondered if he'd killed three people. Would he kill more?  
  
A serial killer doesn't stop killing. I know that. My stomach turned, roiling with coffee and acid, and I took another sip. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Morbidly, I guessed I would know the next time a corpse surfaced whether or not it was Duo. Again I tried to push the thought out of my head, and again I failed. I still had more than a half an hour before Wal-Mart opened, and there was nothing else to do but watch for glimpses of blue smocked employees and watch the sky slowly lighten with false dawn.  
  
It could have been him, I ceded to myself finally. But that didn't mean it was. If I had heard that a gas station had been robbed, and knew someone had gotten gas that day, I wouldn't assume that they had done it. There was no reason for this to be different. But it was different. Because it was Duo, it was different. I sighed, drank my coffee, and fought aside the temptation to add a pack of cigarettes to my shopping list.  
  
How had the tattoo artist died? The girl has said neck trauma. I guessed that she was quoting straight from the paper when she said that. She hadn't said that was the cause of death, either, just that they all had neck trauma.  
  
In the end, I bought a paper from one of the racks in front of the store. The article wasn't much help. The tattoo artist's name was Jacob Rueben, he was thirty-two, and his murder was similar to those of Christina Mathieu and Aaron Rosario. There was a short interview with his wife inside and a picture of their four-year-old son, Brock. I skimmed over it, looking for more details about the murder itself. The police were promising to release more information as it became available. It looked so mundane in print.  
  
I flipped back to the front page to look at the picture again. Jacob Rueben looked back, smiling at me from his photo. He was dead, I thought, and it felt unreal. I didn't know him in the first place. How could he be dead when to me, it was as though he'd never existed at all? I wasn't sorry he was dead, though I suppose I felt a pang for his family. I knew it hurt to lose someone. The emotion was subdued.  
  
I scanned the headlines. Sports scores, local politics, a spread on an author who was doing a book signing; nothing that attracted my attention. I threw the paper into a trash can near the door, followed by my empty coffee cup, and checked my watch again. I only had a couple more minutes until the store was open and I could get my shopping over with.  
  
Duo had teased me because he could tell I had never been to a Wal-Mart before. In retrospect, it seemed ironic to tease someone because Wal-Mart was below their economic level of consumption. It made sense in terms of Duo, though. Just another facet of the perverse streak that seemed to be at the core of him. Walking into the vast, pale interior of the mega store, I didn't see how it was enviable compared to mall shopping. The lighting was high and harsh, and it did nothing to disguise the quality of the products that filled the shelves and racks. The floors were white in a freshly bleached way. Recycled air pressed in on me, stale and immediate.  
  
I chose a direction that might lead to men's clothes and went that way.  
  
I kept my Wal-Mart experience as short as I could. Nothing about the store inspired me to linger. Ignoring the few other shoppers, I looked for what I needed, picking up jeans and tee shirts and sweaters without doing much more than checking the size and making sure that there were no large images or logos on them. I almost forgot socks, and buying them made me realize I was still wearing my Hush Puppies. I bought a pair of ugly yellow work boots to replace them.  
  
I hurried, but even so, the place was busy by the time I was ready to leave. There seemed to be people everywhere, worse than in a mall. I couldn't walk down the aisles without having to navigate through the bodies, and most of them were heedless about who they brushed up against or bumped into. When a child scrunched up his face, looked at me curiously, and asked his mother what that smell was, I gladly pushed my cart to a check out line and called the effort a success. I had clothes.  
  
I returned to the laundromat. Duo waited for me on the curb, smoking a cigarette and hiding from the morning glare behind his dark aviators. He smiled when I rolled to a stop, then tossed the end of his cigarette into the street. Sliding the glasses down his nose, he looked at me over the dark wire rims and said, "I knew you wouldn't leave me."  
  
I snorted. There was humor in his voice, but the blue eyes were still as cold and unfathomable as a deep water lake. I recognized why I was no longer concerned that he'd killed that artist or those others before him, when I looked into his eyes. I had almost understood it when the girl told me about the murders, but I had been too distracted by the murder itself to realize it. It didn't matter, one way or the other, because either way he could have killed them. If it suited him, he would. I didn't know why he'd do it, but I understood it in the same way that I've occasionally met someone and pinged on them as coming from a broken home or having a rigid upbringing. He was a killer.  
  
I saw his smile turn into a smirk. "So, we ready to go?"  
  
"Yeah," I said, popping the lock on his door. "We're ready."  
  
He laughed and climbed in. The car door slammed shut behind him, made my heart lurch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> by Saro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Dacia, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [A Little Piece of Gundam Wing](https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Little_Piece_Of_Gundam_Wing), which closed in 2017. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after July 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [a little piece of gundam wing collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/alittlepieceofgundamwing/profile).

"Have fun at Wal-Mart?" Duo asked me sometime later. By then we were both wearing sunglasses against the harsh winter sun that reflected off hazy, thin clouds and a grey-brown landscape.   
  
I couldn't think of a witty rejoinder to that, so I shrugged. "I found what I needed. If you want, I can give you your things back?"   
  
He chuckled at that. "No rush. I'll get them off you eventually."   
  
A blush crept up my neck and into my cheeks. I did my best to ignore it. In the confines of the car, I was only too aware of my companion. I could hear his breathing, and the small shifts of his body against the leather upholstery. His eyes tracked along the side of my face, my shoulder and arm and thigh, and where his attention went, my skin crawled not-unpleasantly.   
  
I looked in Duo's direction, and he didn't bother hiding the fact he was staring. The hair on the back of my neck stirred. My hands tightened; I opened them deliberately, drumming fingers across the steering wheel once, then again. I felt him follow the motion.   
  
He didn't say anything, and I sincerely wished he would. I wanted the distraction that his words might have provided.   
  
I thought about his lips pressed against my palm. I thought of his eyes, dark and empty in the alien green light off the dashboard.   
  
I thought of the coffee girl's animated pink smile as she told me about the murders.   
  
The reaction was physical. Not fear, or arousal, but a sort of nervous energy that charged my muscles, buzzing in the back of my head like an adrenaline rush. A shiver that could have been anything ran up my spine, and I felt a cold sweat start between my shoulders and under my arms. My foot rode heavier on the gas, and the BMW's engine purred.   
  
Cutting another look at Duo, I saw his eyebrow cock wryly, head tilting. "Hey, Heero," he said finally.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Not that I really care since I don't have to pay your insurance or anything," he said, "but if you're going to speed, you want to at least watch the road?"   
  
My attention snapped forward and sunlight slanted into my eyes, bright enough to sting even through my sunglasses. I could see the broken white passing line vanishing under the hood of my car. Biting back a curse, I pulled the car back into the right hand lane. Only after I was back where I should have been to start with did it occur to me to be embarrassed by my distraction.   
  
Duo grinned. "If you want, I could drive for awhile."   
  
"No," I told him shortly. "I'm fine."   
  
He shrugged as though it hadn't mattered to him in the first place. "Your choice. Just thought I'd offer."   
  
This time I didn't take my attention off the road. The needle on the speedometer eased back down to sixty-five. I engaged the cruise control. After a moment, I made a sound to show I'd heard him. I couldn't really think of anything to say.   
  
I heard leather creak and stick, the seat and his jacket. "You know," he said, "when I was a kid, my mother said I could talk more and say less than anyone she'd ever met. I think I was complaining because some kids at school bought their lunch, or got those prepackaged snack cracker things, and I didn't. She said she could buy me crackers and cheese and lunch meat if I'd rather have that than PB and J. I tried to explain that wasn't the point, it was the package that was important. She told me it was cheaper her way."   
  
I had to stifle the impulse to look at him. I didn't have a clue where he was going with this line of discussion. In the days since I picked him up, he'd never been inclined to tell me about his childhood.   
  
"She was right," Duo continued, and the sound of paper and plastic crinkling marked him drawing a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket. His lighter opened and a flame hissed to life. I smelled the cigarette take. The lighter clicked shut. "It was cheaper that way. And that was important. I think that was the first time I ever really realized that we were poor. I was maybe six. Did you ever get those prepackaged lunches, Heero?"   
  
"No."   
  
"No?" His voice rose at the end, questioning.   
  
"My mother thought they were frivolous. I bought school lunches." I didn't know what this had to do with anything.   
  
"Ah. Yeah, that makes sense. You don't strike me as the kind of person who was raised frivolous." He took a drag, the paper burning down with an audible crackle. "Where was I?" he asked, then pressed on without giving me a chance to answer. "I was maybe six when I figured out that my mom and me were white trash. It just clicked."   
  
I risked a look in Duo's direction. He was still watching me, thumbing the butt of his cigarette thoughtfully. His sunglasses helped hide his expression, but I imagined it would be as inscrutable as the dark lenses of the aviators.   
  
"So," Duo said finally, "if I give you shit about never going to Wal-Mart or anything, try not to take it personally. I'm just kinda an asshole that way."   
  
I checked the road, then returned to Duo. He waited for a response, apparently relaxed but his interest fixed. Some of my tension evaporated. I asked him, "You're not very good at apologies, are you?"   
  
He blinked behind his glasses, and his mouth made a slack little oh for an instant before he recovered. Then a grin split his face. "No, not particularly. It's a character flaw. But I have so many, there's usually no reason to focus on that particular one."   
  
"You say that as though you're proud of it."   
  
"Pride's a sin, Heero. That's even better than a character flaw." I think he would have winked at me if I could see it.   
  
"You go to hell for sins," I said. It was the first thing that came to mind. I had never been religious. I'd gone to church as a child, but I'd never had much faith.   
  
"Only if you die."   
  
A cold prickle touched the back of my neck when he said that, faded quickly. I let out a long, slow breath. Smoke scratched the inside of my nose and my throat, but it didn't cover Duo's smell. It couldn't. The cigarette smoke was stronger, but that odd, suggestive scent was still there. I leaned back in my seat and sighed. More of the anxiety drained out of me, left me feeling hollow.   
  
I thought about asking Duo for a cigarette. I don't know that I really wanted one, but it would have been familiar. It would have been warm.   
  
"You don't plan on dying, I take it."   
  
"Not if I can avoid it." He chuckled. "So far, I seem to have done pretty good."   
  
I shook my head, too tired to fault his logic.   
  
\+   
  
We stopped at a chain hotel late in the afternoon, agreeing that a shower and a bed were more attractive that sleeping in the car. This time Duo chose a single. I don't know what I felt when he did that. I don't think it was even a real emotion--like the feeling in the car, it was baser than that. A wave of sensation that rode down my spine and nested low in my belly; a slow, lazy stirring that warred with the chill.   
  
The man who gave us our room keys studied Duo and I before giving a huff and turning away. It wasn't hard to guess what he made of us.   
  
I took the first shower, turning the water on as hot as I could stand and thickening the air in the bathroom with steam. When I was done, I put on my new clothes and finger combed my hair. Thumbing the sparse stubble over my lip and on my chin, I decided it wasn't worth shaving. I didn't have the energy to worry about a few whiskers or scraggly sideburns. I couldn't see my face in the fogged mirror, anyway.   
  
The television was on. I could hear it through the wall after I turned off the tap, though not loud enough to make out what was being said. It was talk. There were no explosions, nor sound effects or music, just talk. Maybe he was watching a drama, or the news. I couldn't tell. A picture of Duo half-curled on his side, head propped up on one arm while he divided his attention between the screen and the bathroom door lit up in the back my mind as though by lightning--more afterimage than sight.   
  
I would have thought he was the type to sprawl out on his back, maybe lacing his fingers behind his head. This was natural to him, though.   
  
Shaking my head to clear it, I opened the door and stepped into the room. Duo looked up from his spot at the bottom of the bed. It wasn't quite how I'd imagined him, but it was close. I swallowed hard as his eyes caught me, taking in the new, Wal-Mart clothes in one broad sweep. He smiled and declared them, "Not bad."   
  
"So glad you approve," I said, scowling.   
  
The smile morphed into a cutting smirk, but what came out might have been a joke. "You know, if you're not nice to me, I won't let you play with my nipple ring later."   
  
"Is that a threat?" I asked, and sat down behind him on the bed.   
  
"You seemed to like it," he pointed out. He didn't turn toward me when he said it. His braid lay in a pile. This close and in the light, I could see that he already had grey in it. Not much, but it had threaded the brown hair at his temples prematurely.   
  
"I did like it," I said, reaching out, slipping fingers under his shirt. Normally I wasn't that forward, but now was different. I'd left the person who would have waited behind. His skin still gave me a hot-cold shiver.   
  
Duo hissed at the touch. He grabbed my wrist and guided my hand straight to the piercing. I looped my index finger through the ring and gently pulled him over so he was on his back looking up at me.   
  
"I could pierce yours, y'know," he said. The throatiness of his voice made it hard to catch the sarcasm. His blue eyes tilted mischievously. "Since you like mine so much and all."   
  
I matched his gaze. He looked so sure I'd take it as a joke, that I'd say no. I said, "Alright."   
  
His eyes became instantly round, his expression blank and open while he tried to catch up with my answer. It was the first time I'd ever seen him so transparent. He was younger than me, I realized. I don't know how I knew, but I could see it. Despite the grey and the lines that edged his eyes and his smile, he was less than twenty-five. Hard lived, but still young.   
  
He hid it well.   
  
"You'd trust me to do that?" he asked, his voice serious now.   
  
Realizing I did, I nodded.   
  
His breathing sped under my hand. I released his nipple ring, let my whole hand splay across his chest. The muscles were hard, his torso tapering down from broad, bony shoulders. Curiosity replaced confusion in his face, but the expression remained honest for a long moment before hardening into something almost predatory. He pushed himself up in a deliberate motion.   
  
"Now?" he asked.   
  
"Can you?"   
  
He nodded, never breaking eye contact.   
  
"Then yes," I told him.   
  
His lips twitched up at the corners, back towards a smile. He leaned forward, kissed my mouth softly, tongue flicking out to taste me before pulling back. "Alright," he said. "I'll get some ice."   
  
Standing, Duo turned away from me, and left. He grabbed the bucket from the dresser as he passed, arms snapping out while his eyes remained forward. I was left alone on the bed, wondering what I had just agreed to.   
  
It felt like I waited for a long time in that blank, conservative hotel room. When the droning of the television got on my nerves, I turned it off. I understood that when Duo got back, he was going to do something which seemed to me ought to be very painful, something which ought to be done by a professional, if it were going to be done at all... and I didn't have a problem with that. My stomach rolled, but I wasn't afraid. The skin on the back of my neck prickled, my palms grew sweaty, but I wasn't anxious.   
  
The time stretched out, as though it was slipping sideways. I was aware of the nap of the carpet under my bare feet, the fabric of the blanket under my hands, water dripping from my hair and down my back. It was cooler than in the bathroom, thinner, and the moisture from my shower cooled still clinging to me.   
  
I listened to my own breathing, counting the minutes in the slow rush of air in and out of my lungs. In the quiet, I could hear Duo's footfalls coming down the hall. The sound came closer. The door swung inward on oiled hinges. He came back in and set the ice down on the nightstand, then went to his duffel bag. The zipper was loud. He didn't speak while he rummaged through his things. I watched him, waiting to see what magic he'd produce.   
  
He found a pair of heavy safety pins. A muscle in my chest twitched, and I licked my lips.   
  
"Are those clean?" I asked, the question coming from somewhere far away, where I still thought of things like that.   
  
"Not yet," he said, taking a seat across from me on the bed. "But they will be. Take off your shirt." He paused. "You might want to lay down for this."   
  
I hesitated only briefly before obeying. I was already in. I couldn't see a reason to get squeamish now. After pulling off my sweater, I lay back on the bed. Whatever happened next was on Duo.   
  
His lighter appeared, flicked open. He ran the pins through the fire one at a time, until both were blue with oxidization. He shook them out afterward. The pins were set on the pillow beside me. I tried to swallow. It took three tries.   
  
Apparently that was all the preparation Duo needed. He brought the bucket onto the bed and pulled out a chunk of ice. "This is going to be cold," he warned me, rolling the ice through his fingers.   
  
"Yes," I agreed. "It's ice."   
  
He snorted, an eyebrow lifting to a wry angle. One side of his mouth curved in half a smile. Then he pressed the ice to my nipple. I hissed sharply, reflex making me pull away, but he grabbed my shoulder and held me steady. He didn't need a witty comeback. The chunk of ice melted on my chest, sending a stream down my side. I gritted my teeth and tried to relax while the cold became less biting.   
  
He switched sides, and I managed not to flinch.   
  
Water dripped down my ribs.   
  
Finally, he took the ice away and threw it back in the bucket. "Think you're ready?"   
  
If dark could shine, that was what was in his eyes. The hand on my shoulder traveled down to my stomach, and I wondered if he could feel it fluttering.   
  
I nodded.   
  
Duo shifted, pulling one knee up on the bed, then sliding over so his thigh touched mine. He shook his head. The braid tried to fall over his shoulder, only to be caught. He muttered something; I didn't hear what. Then, all of the sudden, he was over me, straddling my legs and leaning forward to look me in the eyes.   
  
"I think this will work better," Duo said, and picked up one of the safety pins. His hand moved up, pinching my nipple and holding it tight. I could barely feel it, half numb from the ice, but the pressure was there. I wasn't sure if it was water or sweat that tickled the back of my neck, but the pillow was already damp. My hands wanted to fist in the blankets.   
  
Duo fixed me with his eyes. "Take three deep breaths, and let them out slowly," he commanded. The pin touched the tight skin on my chest, then positioned itself at the base of the nipple. I inhaled.   
  
As I let out the first breath, he moved suddenly. The rest of the air left my lungs in a rush. I was surprised enough that the pain took a second to catch up. It felt like being bitten. Hard. Then it was done, and Duo clipped the pin closed. I blinked owlishly as I looked down at it, the pin through my body and my mind not knowing how to process that fact. An endorphin laugh bubbled up my throat, stronger than the ache in my chest. I tried to hold it in, but it came out anyway, chuckling at first but growing stronger.   
  
My hands were relaxed now, lying flat and calm on the bed.   
  
Duo's body was hot above me, even through two layers of denim. His fingers slid into the hair by my ear, his thumb tailing over my cheek bone as my laughing fit petered into something too high and too sharp. He looked down at me, his chest rising and falling at quick intervals. There was a flush staining his face.   
  
Picking up the other safety pin, he let the point trail across my chest heavily, raising a narrow red welt. "The other one?"   
  
I studied the red line, oddly distracted. It wasn't bleeding. Not quite. The blood was trapped just under the skin, a line of heat beneath the surface. I could feel my pulse everywhere in my body, throbbing through every vein and pounding in my newly pierced nipple. It seemed I could feel it from Duo, the warmth of his blood tracing maps through his body.   
  
"Yes," I said. My voice came out harsh, as though I hadn't spoke in a long time. Hooking my hands behind his knees and pulling him closer, I repeated it, louder. It almost sounded normal.   
  
He nodded. I kept my eyes locked on his while he placed the pin. His pupils were wide, the color vivid between black and white.   
  
It hurt more the second time. I was expecting it, paying attention to it. I bit back a groan, wincing as he tugged the pin through. Then it was done, and Duo and I were both panting. I gave the backs of his thighs a languid squeeze.   
  
He leaned in slowly, stopping when his lips were by my ear and his breath was fanning my neck. "Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?" he asked in a lazy murmur. His tongue touched my earlobe, then his teeth.   
  
I turned my face toward him, smelled his hair. The scent was strong there. Letting go of his legs, I grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, tasted his mouth. Cigarettes nearly hid the flavor, but not entirely. I could still find it here and there. I looked for the places it was strongest--the tang of it sour-sweet and metallic.   
  
Duo's braced his arms on either side of me. My dream flashed through my mind, but was overpowered by the immediacy of now. I wanted him. Wanted him so bad my fingertips itched, and my mouth tingled. I could feel it pulling at my gut and pressing against the hard cloth of my jeans.   
  
His shirt dragged across my chest, catching on the safety pins and pulling at too sensitive flesh. I gasped as pain flared, and then receded sullenly.   
  
Duo laughed low in his throat. Playfully, he asked, "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"   
  
"Dear god, no," I said. His fingers plucked at my jeans' button fly and I arched up, seeking more contact.   
  
Whatever was wrong with me, the last thing I wanted was for it to get better.   
  
\+   
  
The pressure was building, burning. I rocked under it without the strength or the will to resist. I moved with it, swept away in the pull. I was part of it. A part of the heat, a part of the dark. Rain or sweat pour down my body, ran down his while he moved over me. Air and rain moved through the leaves.   
  
My back bowed and I clutched Duo over me. I heard him say something that didn't make sense. His body clenched around mine.   
  
When I came, the thundering of my heart stopped.   
  
I woke abruptly, late in the morning. My pulse was crashing in my ears, too loud and reassuring. Duo lay pressed against my back, one arm across my stomach. In his sleep, he muttered something into my shoulder. His fingers drew a few clumsy circles over my belly.   
  
I calmed down eventually, but I didn't get back to sleep. At eleven, I woke up Duo to pack and check out.   
  
\+   
  
My nipples were sore and uncomfortable beneath a tee shirt. They distracted me periodically while I drove. I wasn't used to the way they felt. I didn't dislike it, but I wasn't sure yet if I liked it. It was different, and nagging.   
  
Duo was silent and had been since we left the hotel. The smell of his cigarettes was strong, even with the windows down; he'd been smoking for the last two hours or more, lighting a new cigarette as soon as the last burnt down. He fidgeted with them more and more openly as time passed. I didn't know what he was nervous about, but I could feel it. The atmosphere he made was palpable.   
  
I thought about starting a conversation, but the few attempts I made died in infancy. I didn't understand it.   
  
The radio provided noise for awhile, but it didn't make the quiet more comfortable. Even with music, it was quiet. Even with wind rushing in through the windows as I sped down the freeway. It was not, however, still. I found myself choking the steering wheel, and forced my hands to relax. My stomach flopped, maybe hungry. I didn't have much of an appetite, so I ignored it.   
  
Duo lit another cigarette, took one drag, then resumed playing with it, flicking ash that wasn't there.   
  
"Are you alright?" I asked finally.   
  
He snorted. "No. I'm not."   
  
I waited for him to explain, but he didn't. I let it be. If he didn't want to tell me, I wouldn't pry.   
  
Sometime later he asked me to pull over at a rest area. I glanced at him, hiding his face behind his sunglasses. There weren't any clues in his expression. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't frowning. I shrugged and took the next exit.   
  
The parking lot was nearly empty. A yellow Civic took up the only other occupied space. I noted it incuriously, saw the bags piled in the back. A kid who was going home for the holidays, I guessed. It was about that time.   
  
I thought of my own family, probably worried about me, probably frantic. I pictured my mother's living room without a tree, or the few other tasteful decorations she allowed to clutter her space. My brother would be there, comforting a woman who gave no outward sign of being scared. Mother would be sitting on the sofa, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Her left hand would be on top, her diamond visible and catching the light. The tension was there, but only if you knew were to look: the corners of her mouth puckered slightly, her eyes swollen beneath her make up, and a frown line just barely cracking her brow. My brother looked harried in my mind's eye. I felt a pang, but I couldn't hold onto the guilt. It faded almost as soon as I recognized it.   
  
Duo opened his door and stepped out, stretching, then slammed it closed without locking it. He walked around to my door and opened it. "Come on, Heero," he said with a jerk of his chin.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"You could use the air."   
  
My eyebrows lifted a little. I drew back, a retort shaping in my mouth, but the look on Duo's face stopped me. He wanted me out of the car. Now. If he had to drag me out by the hair or by the balls, then he would. I doubted he was actually strong enough to overpower me bodily, but that look said he was willing to try, just with the slight flare of his nostrils. I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out on my own.   
  
He led the way across the parking lot toward the restrooms, and I followed. I was confused. I have never enjoyed not knowing what was happening. "What are we doing?"   
  
"Waiting," he said, still walking. He sucked on his cigarette, then dropped it to the ground.   
  
I expected him to go into the restroom, but he didn't. Instead, he stopped just outside. He took off his sunglasses, and then shoved his hands in his pockets. I copied him unconsciously. The air smelled like sage and sand. Overhead, the sky was getting darker. Sunset was a ribbon on the western horizon, and the moon a thumbnail sliver to the Northeast. I wished I hadn't left my coat in the car.   
  
What are we waiting for, I wanted to ask. Why are we here? What the hell's got into you?   
  
Wind stirred Duo's bangs, tugged at my hair. It sounded like a snake slithering over the ground and shaking the dry brush. I remembered Duo's tattoo, the article in the paper, all my dreams, and the warm shape of his body pressed against my back, all in a rush.   
  
The door to the women's bathroom opened and a girl walked out. She was tall, taller than either Duo or me, with skin the color of coffee and too much creamer. The door closed behind her.   
  
"Watch," Duo commanded me. His voice rasped more than normal. Then he walked toward the girl. He smiled, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. "Miss," he called to her, and she turned. "Just a minute."   
  
Her features took on a wary cast, but she stopped. I doubted she was really afraid of Duo. She struck me as the kind of girl who was used to being able to take care of herself, the kind who regularly beat up her brothers and ruled over her boyfriends. She wasn't stupid, though. She knew she was alone. She had her car keys between her fingers, and looked ready to punch Duo in the face if he made the wrong move.   
  
Duo's smile didn't falter as he approached her. He reached out slowly, like he was going to touch her shoulder. A friendly gesture. The girl started to back up, to move out of range.   
  
The next move was too quick for me to follow. Duo grabbed the girl's right wrist pulled her around, pressing her back to his chest. His other arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tight.   
  
She screamed once, then he covered her mouth holding her immobile with one arm.   
  
"Get over here," he yelled to me as he manhandled the girl.   
  
There was a moment that seemed long at the time, where I considered pulling him off that girl, demanding to know what he was about. I considered leaving. In reality, I doubt I waited more than fifteen seconds before I walked over to join him, subdued as a scolded puppy.   
  
He held her at an awkward angle--her height forced her to bend backward to accommodate their position. The girl's eyes were wide, white showing all the way around the iris, but she wasn't struggling. I didn't believe that Duo could have really held her like that if she had been, but she wasn't. Duo shushed her like she was fussing child, blowing "Shooshshoosh" by her ear.   
  
"What the hell...?" I didn't know what to say or where to start.   
  
"Watch," he told me, meeting my eyes. His were flat, and glittering-hard. Then he bit her. I heard the girl whimper, but she didn't scream again, even when Duo's hand moved down her to cup her chin and tilt her head to the side. Blood welled up around the seal of his lips, beaded and ran down her neck in a thin trickle of red over warm mulatto skin. It seemed like forever he stayed that way, mouth clamped on her neck and very little blood flowing down. His throat worked slowly while I stared.   
  
Something in my head clicked, but I didn't want to believe it.   
  
Duo was breathing hard when he came up again. Blood stained his lips, filled the spaces between his teeth. My chest tightened. I think my heart trembled. The bite on her neck wasn't like the movies, not two neat little holes. It was ragged, and ugly, and nearly human shaped. But human teeth can't break through skin like that; they press and bruise, until the skin rips. A word came to mind, but I didn't want to hear it. It hung in the air between us, ignored while Duo watched me expectantly, waiting for me to make a decision.   
  
I came back to the wound on the girl's neck again and again. The thing must have hurt, but she wasn't crying. I looked at her eyes and found them glazed. She wasn't seeing me.   
  
Blood spilled over skin.   
  
It wasn't really a choice.   
  
I moved slowly, unsure. One of my hands landed on her shoulder, steadying me, the other went to her hip, as though we'd dance. I leaned in slowly and covered the bite with my mouth. I tasted blood, the same as it had always been. At first hardly more than saltwater, then developing a coppery, metallic tang. It tasted like sweat and pennies. I shivered and leaned in closer, pressed my body against the girl's and crushed her against Duo. The hand on her hip moved to his, tugged them both closer. My body knew what it needed, no matter how it tasted. My mind blanked to a perfect, focused, white.   
  
I know that the girl's knees gave out at some point, and that Duo kept her upright. I could hear a soft whimper in her throat, and her respiration become labored. I heard her pulse strain. When the flow of blood in my mouth slowed, I licked the wound, then scraped my teeth across it.   
  
She gasped. Made a move against me. Her heart faltered, then resumed a new rhythm. I think I realized in some part of my brain that she had passed out, but I didn't really care. My throat worked thickly, felt coated. The flavor became cloyingly bittersweet, like the aftertaste of too much sugar. Heat spread through me gradually, warming first my chest, then my abdomen, and finally extending into my arms and legs. I could feel it in my fingers and in my toes.   
  
My stomach churned in protest. I let go suddenly, staggering backward. My hand went to my mouth, touched my lips and came away tacky and red.   
  
Duo let the girl slide out of his arms. She fell to the ground in a limp heap. I watched her, and my throat tried to close. Nausea invaded my stomach. The sick-sweet taste was in my mouth. I tried to swallow, but I couldn't clear it out.   
  
I retched, and knew I was going to throw up.   
  
I made it as far as the grass before falling to my knees and heaving. Nothing came up. Fluid stuck in my throat, as though my body was unwilling to give up what it had taken. I coughed and spat blood and saliva while my stomach wrenched mercilessly, but it didn't happen. I couldn't make my throat relax enough. Struggling to breath, I knelt there while spasms rocked me.   
  
I couldn't throw up. I couldn't. My head pounded and my eyes stung, my nose burned. Those damn nipple rings throbbed painfully.   
  
Duo sat down next to me and lit a cigarette. He waited while my stomach slowly settled, leaving me wrung out and useless. I panted for a long time afterward. I finally stopped wheezing. My body cooled. I still shook, but I finally sat back gracelessly.   
  
"I don't really have many answers," he said at last. "I wish I did." I looked at him, turned to me in profile. He'd cleaned his face. I wiped mine on my sleeve.   
  
"What..." I began. I didn't know what to say though. Shaking my head, I snatched his cigarette. The taste in my mouth stuck, too real. I brought it to my mouth and inhaled, then choked. While I coughed, he took the cigarette back.   
  
"Tastes like shit, doesn't it?" he asked, then laughed ruefully.   
  
"It didn't--"   
  
"Taste like that when you smelled it? On me?" he finished.   
  
I nodded.   
  
"I know."   
  
I took a deep breath. The night air cleared my lungs and my nose, but the taste of blood remained. "Why do you smoke those?" I asked.   
  
"Because I can." He shrugged. Finishing off the cigarette, he stood and dusted off his jeans. Offering me his hand, he said, "Now, I really hate to rush you, but we should probably be getting out of here."   
  
I looked at the hand he held out. Tattoos circled the wrist. The hand was long fingered, square palmed and capable. I'd felt that hand on me last night, and the night before in the car. It had been real, callused, solid. Accepting, I found it the same. Still warm, still hard, still real. I didn't know how it could be, after what I'd seen, but it was.   
  
His grip was firm as he hauled me onto unsteady feet. I let him take my car keys from me, and didn't protest when he tucked me in on the passenger's side. Duo climbed into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirrors, moved the seat back just a little. The key slipped into the ignition. The engine turned over. Duo backed the car out of the spot I'd parked in, then shifted easily into first. A few minutes later we were back on the road.   
  
\+   
  
When we stopped at a twenty-four hour gas station around one in the morning, I was no more enlightened. Duo didn't volunteer information, and I wasn't ready to ask for it. I had run my tongue over my teeth several times during the course of the night, and they were the same as ever--normal, blunt human teeth. Duo's weren't. They couldn't be if they could break skin as easily as they had. I tried to remember if they'd felt sharp when I kissed him, but I couldn't.   
  
"Hey," Duo said, pulling me out of my reverie, "We should change your shirt. There's blood on your sleeve."   
  
I blinked, looking down at my arm. A rusty, red-brown stain smeared across the white fabric. The shirt was probably ruined. Duo plucked at my collar. I took the hint and stripped out of the tee shirt, changing into a grey sweat shirt.   
  
Taking the stained shirt from me and wadding it up into a little ball, Duo asked, "You want a bottle of water or anything while I go in to pay?"   
  
I started to say, no, but changed my mind. The aftertaste of blood clotted in my mouth. "Water would be nice."   
  
"Okay, buddy," he said, and patted my shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute."   
  
I nodded and watched distractedly as he got out. Shivering, I hugged my arms to my chest, then winced as I caught the safety pins through my nipples. I shivered again. It wasn't cold.   
  
I remembered the girl's car, her things in the backseat, and tried to feel guilty. I didn't know if she was dead or not, but we'd left her bleeding on the ground. I should ask. I should know in the first place.   
  
I didn't feel guilty, though. I felt good. Once my stomach had settled and the pounding in my head quieted, I felt better than I had in a very long time. I wasn't tired, or restless, or sick. I didn't hurt. And I didn't have to go to work in the morning, or deal with my family. I could go to New York, or San Francisco, or New Orleans. I could go wherever I wanted. The only difference was how long it would take to get there. If I wanted, I could sell my car and get a plane ticket. I had enough money, still, and I thought Duo had taken whatever cash that girl had had on her. I could go to Spain, or Thailand, or Brazil. I could be there in a matter of days.   
  
I wanted to feel guilty, but I didn't. So I shivered.   
  
Lost in thought, I almost didn't hear the first tap at my window. It came a second time, and I looked up. Standing on the other side of my door was a policeman, his uniform looking crisp and official. He motioned with two fingers for me to open the door. I did, and the world seemed to crystallize around me.   
  
"Can I see some ID," he said.   
  
My wallet was in the pocket of my coat, in the back seat. I fished it out and gave it to the officer. He looked at the picture on my driver's license, compared it to my face. I sat still for his scrutiny, trying not to frown.   
  
"You're Heero Yuy?" he asked. He sounded oddly like he didn't believe it.   
  
"I am," I said, meeting his eyes. He returned my wallet.   
  
"Did you know that you were reported missing in the state of Washington?"   
  
The gripping, brittle stillness shattered. I smiled, chuckling, and told him, "I imagine I am, yes."   
  
"If you could come with me so we can get this cleared up..." He didn't make it a question. I would go with him, whether I liked it or not. Whether I liked to or not didn't make a difference to him. My smile vanished.   
  
"Sure," I said. "Let's get this cleared up." The officer moved so I could get out of the car. I did so in no hurry. I considered raising my hands, but I doubted he'd be amused.   
  
Duo appeared out of the store, two bottles of water hanging from his hand and a receipt between his fingers. He froze when he saw me standing with the cop. His expression changed immediately, like a mask had dropped over his face. It was a casual, nonconfrontational look.   
  
"Is there a problem?" he asked.   
  
"No," I told him, meeting his eyes. He might have flinched away from the look, but his persona was too complete. "No problem. I just have to take care of some things."   
  
He nodded his comprehension: we weren't in trouble, so don't start any. My jaw tightened.   
  
I went with the policeman, getting in the back of his cruiser without any complaint. The door locked from the outside, trapping me. Fear flashed through me, cold and brief. If they discovered the college girl's body, would I become a suspect? There were other bodies though, a serial killer, and I had been at home, no where near the first two. They couldn't think that I was responsible. They couldn't pack up and send me back to my family, either. I think that frightened me more. After getting away, they'd send me back.   
  
I wouldn't go back. I couldn't bear the thought of going back to the offices and the gyms, seeing my brother and my mother again and pretending everything was perfectly normal. Because it wasn't perfectly normal. It wasn't a serial killer. It was a vampire.   
  
My throat nearly closed at that thought. I could still taste the blood in my mouth.   
  
Duo had...   
  
The realization hit me with all the force of a bullet. I couldn't go back. I could go wherever I wanted, but I couldn't stay there. I couldn't have a job, or a family, or a life with other people. I had drunk that girl's blood. I'd needed it. I didn't know how, but I was like him now. A vampire. A killer. I didn't feel guilty, and I knew I would do it again.   
  
My mind spun in slow circles while I rode in the back of the cop car. All I could think was that I wasn't free. I had broke out of one prison, only to have Duo give me another.   
  
"So how did you find me?" I asked the officer, pulling my mind out of things I couldn't deal with at the moment, addressing something I could.   
  
"I ran the plates on your vehicle," he told me. Then he added, "You know, I don't think I'd trust a kid like that driving such a nice car."   
  
He'd fallen for Duo's pretense. Suddenly, I wanted to punch the window just to watch it break. My hands clenched at my sides, and I forced them still.   
  
"Thanks, but it's a little late for that," I said.   
  
\+   
  
The police couldn't detain me. I was an adult, I was sane, and I was there under my own volition. While I might have my doubts about two of those three points, I didn't see a reason to disillusion anyone. As far as they were concerned, I was rude and irresponsible, but I was no longer a missing person. Duo was waiting patiently across the street from the police station when I got out, sitting on the hood of my car.   
  
I was ready for some answers now. Gritting my teeth, I strode toward him. Duo stood at my approach, hands in his pockets, eyes hidden behind his aviators despite the fact dawn was still hours away. He looked concerned when he met me.   
  
"What was that about?" he asked, tilting his head to one side.   
  
"I'm no longer missing in Washington," I said tartly, not in the mood to explain further. "Give me my keys."   
  
"Heero?"   
  
"Now," I said. Anger simmered in my gut. It wasn't all for him. Most of it was frustration from having to wait through police procedure when I wanted to know what was happening to me. Enough of it was directed his way, though, that I wouldn't feel bad about taking it out on him.   
  
Duo brought my car keys out of his leather jacket and handed them to me. I almost wished he hadn't, but he didn't give me an excuse that easily. I took the keys and shoved them into my pocket. I inhaled slowly in a conscious effort to control my temper.   
  
"What did you do to me?" I demanded, finally. His eyebrows shot up over the rims of his glasses. "What are you?" I couldn't keep the temper out of my voice. He heard it. He might have looked hurt for an instant, or angry, but it was hidden behind a smile before I could be sure.   
  
"I didn't do a damn thing to you," he answered. "Nothing you wouldn't have done to your own damn self eventually, anyway."   
  
"I don't believe you."   
  
"Then don't believe me, but it's the honest to god fucking truth." He started to turn away. I grabbed his arm.   
  
"What did you do?" I repeated.   
  
Duo looked at me through dark lenses. I could feel his eyes, taking in my face, reading the frustration in my expression, deciding what to make of it. I wanted to take the glasses away from him. He pulled them off, folded them neatly, and hooked them onto the collar of his shirt, beating me to it. "I found you. That's it."   
  
"Found me?" I shook my head. That didn't make sense. I'd picked him up. "What the hell are you?"   
  
His eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you think I am, Heero? What do you think you are?"   
  
"Don't play games with me," I said. Neither of us had raised our voices yet.   
  
"I'm not. I told you I don't have many answers, and I meant it."   
  
We matched each other stare for stare for a long moment. Finally, Duo sighed dramatically. "Walk with me, Heero," he said. "I don't feel like having this conversation in front of a police station."   
  
I resisted the urge to argue with that just on principle, and agreed. This wasn't the place to have this conversation. Wandering around in the dark didn't seem like a huge improvement, but I nodded. Duo chose a direction and start that way. I followed a step behind until he let me catch up.   
  
"So, Heero," he said when we reached the end of the block, "what do you think we are? If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it's a goddamn, blood-sucking duck, Heero."   
  
"What if it's more likely that you're some fetishist who gets off on pretending to be a duck?" I asked. "What if that's more likely, because ducks don't exist?"   
  
"I know you don't think that."   
  
"No," I ceded reluctantly. "I don't. I wish I could."   
  
We walked for awhile without speaking. Our footsteps sounded heavy on the sidewalk. There were some early morning commuters out already, but mostly the streets were empty. Finally, I asked, "Why did you do that? Why show me like that?"   
  
"Would you have believed it otherwise?" Duo shot back. His voice was hotter than I expected. Harsher. "If I had said, ‘By the way, buddy, I drink blood, and it's really the way to go,' would you have believed me, or would you have thought I was a sicko? There are worse ways to find out."   
  
"Like?" I asked, turning toward him. "You assaulted a girl in front of me!"   
  
"Like you could have had to figure it out on your own. Like you could have been restless and starving, craving something for months, and not knowing what," he hissed at me, throwing his hands in the air. His mask cracked and I could feel his irritation crackling around me like electricity. I could smell it, sweet and rotten. "Like you could have had to work up the nerve to try it for yourself. You could have had to knife someone, because you couldn't bite them. I'm sorry if I'm not too good at this, but I'm doing the best I can."   
  
"What do you know?"   
  
"I know that you don't want food, and sunlight hurts my eyes. I know cigarettes don't taste the way they should, and if you drink alcohol, you'll be the sickest you've ever been in your life," he said. "I know that a few months ago, I was cutting people, and now I don't have to."   
  
"That's not enough," I said after a minute of silence.   
  
"No, it's not," he agreed. "But it's what I got. I'm figuring this stuff out as I go. Take it or leave it."   
  
I sighed, eyes drooping closed for a moment. I couldn't even be properly angry. I wanted to be angry, really, screaming angry. Or scared. Something so I could storm off and go home. So I could choose to leave it. Shaking my head, I opened my eyes. There was a phone booth on the corner. I fished through my pocket for change. Duo frowned when I stopped and started dropping quarters into the machine.   
  
"You're making a phone call?" he asked incredulously.   
  
"Yes," I told him. "And it's long distance, so he better wake up."   
  
The phone rang three times, and I thought I would get the answering machine. I frowned; I'd wanted to say this in person. Then someone picked up, and a sleepy, female voice greeted me. My brother's wife.   
  
"Ellony." I couldn't keep the displeasure out of my tone.   
  
"Heero!" She was awake now. "Do you know what time it is? Where are you? Jin has been worried sick."   
  
"Let me talk to my brother," I told her, ignoring her questions.   
  
There was an extended instant where I'm sure she was considering yelling at me herself. Then she answered, "Just a second. I'll get him."   
  
"You calling your breeder brother?" Duo's lighter snicked behind me. He sounded amused.   
  
"Shut up."   
  
"Hello, Heero?" my brother's voice came over the phone. He sounded tired, but alert. It was still the middle of the night where he was. Alert was all I could ask for.   
  
"Hello, Jin," I said, considering what to say next. I could feel Duo's attention on my back. "I just wanted to call and let you know that I'm alright."   
  
"You're alright?" he repeated sluggishly. "Heero, where are you? What the hell are you doing?" Duo snickered. My brother heard. "Who are you with?"   
  
"Don't worry about it," I said. "It's not important."   
  
"I'm hurt."   
  
"Heero, who is that?"   
  
"Just someone I met," I snapped, glaring over my shoulder at Duo. He flashed a grin that could have cut glass.   
  
Pause. "That was a man's voice."   
  
"I know that."   
  
"Heero, what's going on?"   
  
"I wanted to let you know that I'm fine, Jin," I told him firmly. "I'm sorry I left, and I'm sorry, but I won't be coming back."   
  
"Heero?"   
  
I was getting sick of hearing my name. "Goodbye, Jin."   
  
"Wait! Are you going to call back when... when you know where you'll be? Let us know how to contact you?"   
  
I hesitated only a moment. "No, I won't. Tell Mother goodbye for me."   
  
I didn't wait to hear his response, hanging up the phone before he found the words. For a long while I stood there, staring at the phone. When I finally turned around, Duo wore a smug smile. I shook my head resignedly and led the way back to the car.   
  
Fin


End file.
